Back at the table, the wine low in the bottle and the city glittering beyond the glass, Max asked her questions.
This was his favourite part. He'd known the answers for years, had heard them in bed at midnight, over breakfast, in the car, in the middle of arguments, in the comfortable silence of people who have run out of things to hide.
But hearing them again now, watching her face as she discovered that she had opinions and preferences and a whole inner world still perfectly intact even without the memories attached to it that was something else.
"Favourite colour," he said.
"Green," she said immediately, then looked mildly surprised by her own certainty.
"Favourite thing about rainy days."
"The smell just before. Not during. Before."
He nodded. He knew.
"Okay," he said, settling back in his chair with the air of a man who had absolutely nothing but innocent intentions. "Favourite thing about sex."
Ruby looked up from her glass.
"Excuse me?"
