She stares at the bottle in something like consternation. “I’ll get an opener and some glasses. Thank you, Nathan. It was very thoughtful of you.”

I just wave. “I bought it thinking I’d try something new. But I’ll never end up opening it for just me.”

“What do you drink, when it is just you?”

“Whiskey, usually. Or scotch. Beer, occasionally.”

Seems like she’s about to say something, but doesn’t. Instead, she just slips inside, leaving the door half-open, returning with a corkscrew and a pair of wine goblets. She hesitates.

“Um, here.” She hands me the bottle and the corkscrew. “You do this, I’ll dish up.”

I just nod, and open the bottle. I don’t have much practice opening wine, so it takes a while and the cork is a mess by the time I’m done. I pour us each a half glass, by which time Nadia has plated us each a pile of spaghetti. I move aside the towel covering the bread, and we each take a few pieces.

There’s another awkward silence. We both feel like we should say something. Grace, maybe? I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

I lift my wineglass in a toast. “To new friends and cabins by the lake.”

She echoes my toast; we clink, and dig in.

There’s very little talking. She eats like a machine, steadily, with gusto. I find myself wondering when the last time she had a meal like this was—a long time, judging by the sharpness of her cheekbones, the hollows in her cheeks, the bags under her eyes.

She finishes her first plate, goes for more, and then pauses. “I, um. I guess I’m hungry.”

I just laugh. “Hey, a woman who can eat like she enjoys it is a good thing, in my book. Don’t be lookin’ to me for judgment on that score.”

She sighs, seeming relieved. “I guess I just don’t want to seem—”

“Seem however you are. If you’re hungry, eat. That’s it.”

She smiles. “Thank you.”

I just wave, because there’s nothing for her to be thankful for. I take seconds myself; offer her more bread, more wine. By the time we both put our forks down and sit back, the pasta is nearly gone, and most of the bread. We’re savoring the last few sips of wine, along with the sunset.

I don’t know what to say. How to start a conversation. It’s been so long, and I’m out of practice.

The food gone, the last sips of wine finally gone, I can feel Nadia getting restless.

I stand up. “Thank you for dinner,” I say.

She stands up too. “Thank you for the wine and the bread.”

Silence.

“I should, um…” she starts.