More time had passed, though Richie couldn’t have said how much or how little. Maybe it was a symptom of shock, or maybe due to the wine, which was astonishingly good, and nothing Richie would ever have bought for himself. The three friends were sitting at Table Four, just like ordinary diners. They were even quite relaxed. Or, at least, Richie thought he was. He’d given up trying to understand what was really going on. He’d just accepted that he didn’t have to worry about a dozen angry guests arriving some time tonight, an eviscerated chef in the kitchen, and the bailiffs on the doorstep in the morning.
He was also learning to accept the physical pleasure of arms around him. Craig’s arms, to be precise, which was a bit of a surprise. Craig’s chair was close to his, their knees brushing t
