"Violet Don."
When the man called her name, it was straightforward and decisive, like a gust of wind sweeping by and quickly drawing to a close, cold and sharp. Violet Don's eyes reddened with laughter, "Young Master Bates."
She finally mustered the courage to face him.
Noah Bates stepped forward, Violet Don stepped back, the two of them confronting each other in an invisible standoff. She said, "Young Master Bates, if you step any closer, it will be too close."
Noah Bates stopped not far from her, the man's smile held deep meaning, "We've been closer before."
"But I've forgotten."
Violet Don parried his advance unflappably, her laughter like that of an innocent child, seemingly turning back time to the startling glimpse of when they first met.
But then she said, "Did you call me for a reason, Young Master Bates?"
So estranged and distant.
The fingers around Noah Bates' wine glass tensed, as if it was Violet Don's throat he was gripping.