Ford leaned forward to take the note without thinking anything of it, until the other man's hand brushed his. He looked up instinctively, and his heartrate picked up. It was less the contact itself, which could have been innocent enough, and more the look in Macnair's eyes. Ford couldn't have articulated what it was about it, but there was something there. Something that made him feel vulnerable, but in a way that was a little exhilarating.

He didn't respond — it didn't seem to need a response — but then Macnair was draining his glass. Well, then. They still had a bottle between them, and apparently the tone of the night was about to shift. Ford glanced down at his own wine and hesitated only a moment before following suit, not wanting to be left behind.