You should dance, he told her, which brought a secret smile yet still she refused, shook her head, let those ginger locks swirl around her. You look so lovely in that long dress, he said, but no, she wasn’t comfortable moving like that in public, swaying in rhythm to the music, engendering a physical response from the young men attending the wedding reception. And yet you sing like an angel, move with sound, fill their hearts with the same desire, he said, to which she replied that it wasn’t at all the same thing. An angel, the voice of an angel, he repeated into the soft glow of sunset and the warmth of another glass of white wine.