She stirs her salad, eyes focused on her plate. A hint of vinegar hangs in the air. “I believe that although life is temporary, love is eternal,” she says glancing at Edmund.
“No, I don’t think you do.” He sets a key on the table. She closes an eye, lances a cherry tomato with her fork, rests her elbow on the table, and points the fork at Edmund.
“Yes. I. Do.” She pops the tomato into her mouth.
“Love is listening and accepting, not admiration.” He slides the key toward her and walks away.
“He’ll be back,” she mutters.
