One of my many re-discovered talents. [The wine smells a little tart, if he's being honest. It's probably old, well-stored. When he takes a sip, it's got the sour-sweet taste he's not exactly used to. He makes a little face, nose scrunched, and takes another sip, expression-free.

He nods to the fish, murmurs: ] Used to cook every Tuesday when Diana and I were still married. Let it go by the wayside after I moved back to Hawkins.

[The cup goes down on the ground, just while he busies himself plating up. One to Stephen, the other to himself. ] If it tastes dry, pretend it doesn't.