For sure.
Love you guys.
Ramin
Love you
Arya
Love you doostammmm
Farzan flopped back on the couch. Looked like he’d be flying solo tonight. In more ways than one.
He pulled up the website of the wine bar. Aspire had opened over thesummer in a vacant spot on Walnut. He’d been meaning to try it out—with Arya and Ramin (and Todd), in fact—but reservations had been hard to come by, and then he’d been super busy with jobs, and Arya always had a slew of end-of-summer events to plan, and Ramin had gotten a promotion, and now it was nearly fall and they still hadn’t been.
But it was easier to get a table for one than for four.
Aspire didn’t open for another hour. Farzan knew he should be doing his dishes, but honestly, he was content to lie on the couch and stare at the ceiling. There would always be more dishes. Turns out that was what his thirties had been about: endless dishes, knees that crackled when he went for a run, and graying hair. He’d even found a gray strand this morning while he was grooming himself down below, just in case Persian food and chill became… really chill.
He sighed. He should’ve left his poor balls alone. After all, they’d been more reliable companions than any man he’d ever dated. They hadn’t dumped him after two dates, halfway through cooking for the third.
In the kitchen, his oven beeped that it had finished preheating for the salmon that it wouldn’t be seeing tonight.
“Shit!” Farzan sprang off the couch and ran to the kitchen.
Maybe he’d better clean up after all.
two
David
David stared at the wineglass in front of him. The wine was a deep purple, nearly maroon, dark and mysterious. He gave it a swirl and admired the legs. Full-bodied, certainly.
Behind him, Dannon muttered hopefully, “You think you’re going to stump him this time?”
Kyra scoffed. “Thirty bottles in, I’ve more or less given up on that.”
“Do you mind?” David asked without heat. “I’m trying to taste here.”
“So sorry.” Kyra gave him a quirked eyebrow and mocking bow. She was the assistant manager at Aspire, a charming Black woman in her early thirties who treated David like a cranky old man even though he was only thirty-seven. She actually reminded David of his mom, but there was no fucking way he’d ever tell Kyra that.
She had warm brown skin, immaculate box braids, and kind dark eyes that turned up in the corners. Her signature pinstriped vest was buttoned up; a gray tie, still loose, dipped into her large bosom.
David huffed a laugh, rolled his eyes, and stuck his nose in the glass. Notes of chocolate-covered strawberries punched him in the face, joinedby more subtle scents: fresh-roasted coffee, allspice, sagebrush. He swirled again, keeping the tasting grid in his mind, as he took his first sip.
The wine danced across his tongue and sang on his palate, a soft, sensuous mouthfeel he’d come to associate with Rhône blends, especially ones from the New World. This deep and dark, it had to be Paso Robles. Medium-plus acidity, yes, and high tannins, but they were nice and ripe. And the finish? Whew. Fuck him.
He took one more luxurious sip, as blackberry and licorice overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes and sighed.
“Saxum. James Berry Vineyard. Twenty…”
He caught Kyra’s face. She was smiling, but she looked like she’d sucked on a lemon drop, too.
“Fifteen.”
“Damn, I thought I had you that time.”
David laughed as she started pouring more glasses. “Maybe next time. Come on, gather round.”
