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David clinks his wineglass to mine and smiles at me. You know what? Without the parsley there to distract you, it’s quite a smile. It’s bright white and streamlined. His face is handsome in a conventional way, all cheekbones and angles. He’s not so attractive that you’d stop traffic to look at him. But neither am I. He’s just a humbly good-looking guy. Like, if he were the new doctor in a small town in the Midwest, all the local women would schedule an appointment. He’s that kind of attractive. His glasses sit comfortably on his nose, as if they have earned the right to be there.
