“Yes you are. It’s making everyone else nervous. It’s also very cute.”
“Just because you can sense my feelings, it does not mean your interpretation of them is correct,” I grump.
Summer laughs. “It’ll be sunset before you know it. Drink your champagne—” she indicates the bubbly drink in the glass in front of me “—and relax a little and… try and enjoy yourself. You might find you actually will.” She releases my thigh after another squeeze. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to the restroom.”
“Wait—” My nostrils flare with panic.
She’s already threading through the guests and walking away.
Turning back to the table and the strangers around me, I sigh and grab the glass.
Sipping my champagne, my eyes widen and I inhale. Lifting the glass to eye level, watching the bubbles, I am surprised by the peachy cream flavor. Summer’s flavor. Although it’s more direct, sharp, alarming with a quick carbonated pop. I take another tentative sip and close my eyes.
“So how did you and Summer meet?”
I peek to my left and at the lanky male sitting at my side. Noticing he’s the same one who was paired with Summer at the ceremony, I force my fist to relax. “We work at the same museum.”
“Oh! That occultist artifact place… Hopkins’ something…”
“Hopkins’ Museum of the Strange.”
“Yes. That’s the one! Sounds like a cool place.”
“We keep the inside temperate, otherwise the older artifacts will degrade.” I tilt the rest of the champagne down my throat, focusing on the flavor of peach.
The guy frowns, then laughs. “A sense of humor, I like that. Summer and I were in the same internship. That’s how I met her and Ella.”
Uncertain about what humor there is within my words, I nod. Someone comes up behind us and fills our wine glasses.
The male lifts his and takes a drink. “I’m Jordan.”
Not wanting to be awkward, I do the same. “I’m Zuriel.”
“Interesting name.”
“Everyone says that.”
He eyes me. “It fits.”
“Thank you.”
Maybe he is not so bad after all.
Our conversation tapers off, and I focus on the wine. There’s a depth of flavor here, more than I have the experience to register, though I’m certain it’s not as good as the champagne—not enough bubbles. By the time I’ve finished it, my mood is better.
Much better.
So great, in fact, I’m at the bar ordering another, grinning like a fool. With it in hand, I face the dance floor, scanning the crowd for Summer and her vibrant dress. I sense her nearby, eager to find me, wondering where I am.
Our eyes connect across the room, and she smiles with relief. She excuses herself from the others and steers for me, eyeing the wine in my hand, the smile on my face.
“You’re happy,” she gasps, placing her hand on her chest. “Really happy.”
“You were right. The champagne helped my mood. No wonder humans enjoy alcohol so much.”
“Woah.” Her face flushes. “I can tell. How many have you had?”
“Just the champagne, a glass of wine, and this one.” I raise my cup and take a swallow. It’s already nearly gone.
