He got the knife, took a breath, and made the cut. The blood flowed as smoothly as it had on Thanksgiving.
When it filled about a quarter of the goblet, he reached for a bar towel and pressed it over the crook of his elbow.
It was a good thing he also kept a first aid kit back here. In a minute he had the cut bandaged and his sleeve rolled down. He picked up the goblet and hurried out to the bar, terrified Gabriel might have grown impatient and left.
But no, he was still sitting there, toying with a coaster.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
“It’s all right. I had nowhere to go.” The bleakness in his tone made Noah want to cry out in protest.
Instead, Noah placed the goblet on the table before him. “Here’s your blood.”
“Where’s your drink? Aren’t you joining me?”