I plate our dinner in large soup bowls. The rain’s started up again, and it taps lazily on the glass.
“Where’s Dorian?” Raven asks. “Is he coming tonight?”
“He’s working late at the museum,” I say. “They’re running behind on that big gala they’re having in a few weeks. A big shipment of donations came in for that exhibit, so his boss asked him to do some overtime.”
I hand over her bowl, and she holds it close to her chest. When she looks at me, her mood has turned somber. “About last night, when you two were…” Raven watches me, as if gauging how best to ask.
Raven seems to know something happened between us, something more than we’ve told her, so I deflect.
“You’re coming with us on our next book stealing mission,” I say. “We missed you.”
Her shoulders relax a little.
“Don’t feel like you’re a guest here,” I tell her.
“Thanks. I’m not sure I’ll be able to find another apartment this close to campus.”
“That’s why I offered it.” I smile, and she finally smiles back. It’s one of my life’s missions to see it. I sense a warm feeling rising up in Raven, a kind of swoop of pleasure that I embrace as my own.
We eat our dinner, perched across from each other on the bay window seat, our knees tucked up and our ankles slightly touching, as she tells me about her day at the library. The dinner, while excellent, hearty and robust, is nothing compared to the feeling of Raven being here. She’s a steadying presence, like a fire crackling away in the same hearth for years, its light and warmth aconstant comfort. This is the perfect picture of a cozy life. It’s the safety of being near someone who knows me, maybe even better than I know myself.
When she’s done eating, I take her bowl and put it in the sink, saving the washing up for later. “Do you want to take a shower or…” I pull a bottle of red wine from atop the vintage fridge. “Do you want a nightcap first?”
“Sure,” she says, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Where’d that come from?”
“Another gift from the previous tenant,” I say, holding it up for her. It’s a little dusty, but I brush it off with my sleeve and inspect the label. “It’s a Bordeaux, bottled in 1913.”
“Wow, that’s probably incredibly expensive,” Raven says.
“Then that’s all the more reason we should drink it.”
Raven doesn’t argue as I uncork it. Immediately, an aroma of spicy black pepper and star anise wafts out of the bottle. I manage to find two glasses, pour for us both, and take a seat across from her again.
The wine is so red, so dark, it almost looks like blood in the dim firelight. I hold the glass up, peering through it. Time, literally bottled. There’s something magical about it, otherworldly and esoteric. If I had to guess, the vineyard was owned by a wizard. Probably a Sibylline alum. The aroma is seductive, like lips brushing against my skin. I suppress the urge to shiver.
The last time this wine breathed, a world war was just about to begin. How much it’s missed since then. I notice Raven looking at me, but she turns away again, tucking her hair behind her ear. She puts her nose in the glass and takes a sniff, and something changes in her face, a kind of relief, like she hasn’t taken a deep breath in a long time.
“Toast?” I say, holding out my glass.
She holds out hers, the rim hovering inches from mine.
“To good friends,” I say. “And good wine.”
“To best friends,” says Raven with a rueful smile. “Thanks for having me, man.”
The wine is dry and tangy, with a little bite. Warmth rushes into me, and I let out a soft sigh, the taste lingering on my tongue before it fades into a pleasant tingling in the back of my throat.
“Nice.” I nod, approving. As if I know anything about wine.
“It could breathe for a bit,” Raven decides.
“You think?” I ask.
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “I’m no expert. My parents are wine lovers. They say the tannins need to be exposed to the air to fully develop the flavor. To be honest, I’ve never been able to tell the difference.”
She’s lying. She’s rich and sophisticated and has always been comfortable among the finer things, unlike me, who’s just pretending. The aura around her head shimmers, like a mirage.
“The wine’s been waiting to be enjoyed for so long, you’re telling me it needs even more time?” I tease.
