They retire to the study, holding hands and after-dinner cocktails. They settle into their opposing chairs – her in a floral fireside, him in his worn leather wingback. They smile and lock eyes as they finish their drinks.
Then the evening truly begins.
No phones, no internet, no television. Just a random selection from the hundreds of dusty hardcovers that line the mahogany bookshelves.
They read for hours, underlining memorable passages and then compare notes. The one with the most poignant, most provocative choice wins.
It’s a game they’ve been playing for years; one they couldn’t stop even if they tried.
The Weekday One Hundred 