“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to….” He trailed off. My mouth hung open in awe. I stood frozen in astonishment. How could a stranger know such intimate details of my life?

“How…who…” I stammered.

“Its hard to explain,” he said.

“Are you stalking me?” I asked, now feeling scared. I edged away slowly.

“My name is Ansel,” he said stretching out his hand. I took off my sunglasses and met his gaze. I felt a release of tension and my hand gradually extended to meet his. He had slender fingers, and his skin was cool and inviting to the touch.

He stood there awkwardly holding my hand in his, staring at the blended flesh of our two hands. I didn’t dare move.

“His name was Raoul,” Ansel began, squinting to study her hand, “He grabbed your hand before you left.”

I listened, waiting for an explanation.

“Her name,” Ansel continued in a disgusted tone, “Was Victorine. He kissed her in the pub toilets while you…were drinking scotch. On the rocks.”

I could still taste it on my tongue.