He was sitting on the far side of the couch, back facing her. She could see a bottle of scotch sitting on the coffee table in front of him. He was raising a tumbler to his lips. Belle sighed. It seemed today was going to be one of those days.
She dropped her purse in the chair she passed as she made her way to him. Softly, she sat next to him, turned to face him, her left knee bumping his right. She heard a short, quick breath escape him. Yes, one of those days indeed.
"What's the matter, Rum?" She whispered.
He gave her a wry grin and a sidelong glance, "I'm old."
She quirked her mouth and raised her eyebrows in sympathy. " Well, I could always just say you're as old as you feel, but something tells me that won't cut it this time."
He shook his head, gazing thoughtfully into his glass. His thumb gently stroked the rim of the tumbler.
"If that were true, I'd be ancient right now."