“It is you,” he says, looking anywhere but at me.
I place the key in the lock and open the door. We speak at the same time.
“You—”
“I—”
We laugh at the same time.
“You go,” he says.
“Wanna come in for a drink?” I ask, and his eyes widen slightly. “Or you can go home, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“A drink would be lovely. Thank you.”
He walks in behind me. I take off my coat and hang it behind the door. He does the same.
I lean on my heels and point my thumb toward the kitchen. “Let me go get you that drink. Any requests?” I walk backwards, not wanting to take my eyes off him. The back of my calf bumps against the couch, and I stumble a bit. God, this is embarrassing. He moves to help, but I wave him off. “I’m good.” I find my footing and heat rushes to my ears.
“I’ll take anything that won’t kill you.”
“Comedian.” The air feels lighter now that my calf is in pain. One burden for another. I look at the lone bottle of red and raise it so he can see. “Red?”
He responds, “I’ll have what you’re having.”
I crisscross the stems of two glasses in one hand and grab the bottle with the other. I make an obvious effort to sidestep the couch on the way back, and it earns me a slight chuckle. He takes the glasses from me and sets them on the coffee table before us. I take a seat beside him on the couch.
“Glad to see you made it in one piece.” He examines the bottle of 2019 Tignanello that I purchased years ago on a whim. It was an expensive wine, but what is life without leaning into the finer things it offers? I hurry back into the kitchen to grab the bottle opener.
“This is the wine you’ve been saving,” he says. I’m hyper-aware of the distance between us as I sit beside him, our knees a hair’s breadth away.
“Yeah…I’ve always wanted to be one of those people who has a fancy bottle they could show off,” I say. Because of my student visa, I couldn’t work as many hours during college as other people who needed money. And despite my dad, bless his heart, doing everything he could to ensuremy upkeep was decent, I never had enough for extras. After I got my green card and started earning the big hospital dollars, I started making little frivolous purchases like this one as a token to the younger me, who went to bed many nights on Indomie instant noodles.
“And you want to share it with me?” Niyi shifts his weight and pivots to face me. The earnest look on his face is piercing. I struggle to pinpoint whether it’s happiness or sadness.
“Good things must be experienced sometimes.” I reach for the bottle. Let’s get this show on the road.
“Thank you,” he says while I twist the corkscrew in. Our silence amplifies the pop as I uncork the bottle.
“I mean it.” He slows my hand. “Thank you for sharing a part of you with me.”
He takes the bottle from me and pours us two perfect glasses. He swirls the glass at the base with his thick, steady fingers, making the almost purple liquid slosh in the bowl. He brings it to his nose. I already know the scents that are attacking him. It might’ve been a spontaneous spend, but I did my research afterward. The top notes of blackberries, dark cherries, and plums seem to please because he smiles. He takes a sip and smacks his plump lips as he deciphers the flavors before taking another sip. He makes drinking look so good.
“Thoughts?” The hoarseness in my voice surprises me.
“Taste it yourself,” he responds, raising his glass. I reach for mine, but he gently holds my shoulder, moving me away from the coffee table and toward his face. He tips his glass towards me, like he did at the restaurant, but this time, it feels more intimate.
“That’s your glass.” My voice comes out low.
“And I want to share mine with you.” The bass in his voice is more prominent.
He scoots towards me, and our legs touch. I lean forward, and his fingers brush the side of my face as he places the glass on my lips. When the dark liquid touches my tongue, colors burst before my eyes. Blacks, dark reds, and purples come to light. As it settles, hints of vanilla, oak, andcinnamon linger. I close my eyes and take in the flavors. I go back for another sip and moan lightly as each taste finds its place on my tongue.
“Thoughts?” He tries to mimic my earlier tone, but it comes out more rugged.
“It’s delicious,” is all I can say while I look at him and attempt to keep my composure. It might be the drinks I had at the restaurant or this gorgeous wine, but I’m feeling frisky.
I take the glass from him and place it on the table. He shoots me a look. “So, are we at the ‘kiss-and-goodnight’ part of the date?” I ask. “Or are we gonna wait and do a countdown like on New Year’s Eve?”
