Red Wine for a Melancholy Summer

Red Wine for a Melancholy Summer WLW Fiction by @DavidP and Faerie Realm In my mind, her name was Melancholy, because that's how she looked to me every time she walked into my bar. I desperately wanted to know her real name, but unlike most of my customers, she kept to herself and so I'd never inquired. She came in almost every weekend and, since business inevitably slowed in the fall, almost always took the same spot: the booth facing the front door, closest the bar. She always ordered the country's most popular whiskey, Crown Royal. I loved observing her, because she always dressed in a rugged style—flannel shirts, jeans, cowboy boots—and yet moved with the elegance of a ballet dancer. Inevitably, a brawny specimen of Canadian manliness, often dressed in similar outdoor clothes, would saunter through the front doors. She'd make eye contact and slide over to make room for him, and I would sell a decent amount of liquor until eventually they'd get up and stagger out into the night. But tonight was different. Unlike other evenings, the minutes passed but she didn't glance at the door or check the clock on the wall. She eventually finished her Crown Royal, turned around and beckoned me with her melancholy eyes. "Can I have another?" she asked in her husky but sweet voice. "Of course," I answered, nodding at my bartender, who quickly filled another tumbler with whiskey. I took it over to her table. And then I took a chance: I decided to introduce myself. "I'm Chianti, the owner of this establishment," I said as I placed her refill on the table in front of her. I could feel my Pappy shaking his head in disapproval somewhere up in heaven. He'd always told me, be chatty with the ones who want to chat, but let the quiet ones be. You want everyone to feel comfortable, so don't scare anyone away, especially the regulars who are your lifeblood. And Melancholy was definitely a regular. If I were to overstep, I could lose some of my lifeblood, and especially during the slower autumn months, I needed all the regulars I could get. But she was special, and I didn't know if or when I'd get another chance, so I had to take the risk. To my relief, she smiled up at me, and I finally learned her real name: "Hi, I'm Summer," she said. "Would you like some company, Summer?" "Sure," she said simply, sliding over to make room for me. I sat down, my heart starting to beat a little faster. "You have a pretty name," I said, aware that complimenting her on her beauty or grace would have been too strong. "Not as pretty as Chianti," she said with a smile that warmed my heart. "Would you like to try some red wine for a change?" I asked, sliding my own glass of merlot towards her. "I haven't touched this one yet." To my relief, she liked it, and even requested a second one after she finished it. Conversation came easily for us, and I took her warm smiles and her occasional leaning on my shoulder to indicate that she was enjoying my presence and not simply tolerating me; and so, after we'd both had several more glasses, I put my hands on her arm and took another chance: "I think you're a very interesting person, Summer." And she smiled broadly at that. You see, most guys at that point would have told her how beautiful she was. And how do I know that? Because I'm a woman, and that's what men do when trying to woo us. And you know what? Complimenting us on our looks works just fine for many women. But I could tell Summer wanted more than that, because I could see myself in her, and I'd always wanted to be more than just pretty. I wanted to be interesting, and I wanted other people to see me as interesting, too. I could never be a brawny lumberjack, but I could offer Summer something the manliest of men might overlook: Validation as a person, not just as an object of beauty. After a few more drinks, I took another chance (although to be fair, I could feel the odds shifting in my favor): "Would you like to see my place?" I asked her. "You don't have to stay and run your bar?" she asked, looking around. "I've got staff and besides, I mostly just do customer engagement. And I'll still be doing that... with you." She giggled, which may have been the effect of all the wine, but then she nodded, and my heart soared. I didn't even grab my jacket, I simply put my arm around her and, together, we stepped out into the cool autumn evening. We continued to chat as we walked arm-in-arm to my place, just a few blocks away, and our conversation quickly deepened. I told her that I'd inherited the bar from my Pappy when he'd died suddenly. She told me that she'd indeed taken dance lessons when she was younger. Now she worked at the lumber mill on the far side of town and had been happily married until the previous year when her husband cheated on her with her best friend. She'd been trying to find a new partner for almost a year, but every guy she met only wanted her for one thing (or sometimes two, as a few asked her to cook for them as well). On this particular night, she'd decided to take a break from blind dates and come to my bar by herself, just to think. "I'm sorry I interrupted your thinking," I said. "I'm not," she replied. "Because I'd actually been thinking, I wish someone would see me for more than just my body." "Well full disclosure: I notice your body, too." "But that's not all you see, and that means a lot." She stepped in front of me and looked deep into my eyes, as if emphasizing that she saw me, too. "Just like I think it's amazing that you run your own business," she whispered, leaning closer to me. I wanted to kiss her right there, and I could tell she wanted me to, but I managed to hold back if only because we were almost to my place. Instead I nodded, took her hand, and led her the final hundred paces. As soon as we stepped inside and closed the door, though, we each reached for the other, kissing and embracing warmly. There was much less conversation from this point on. Her boots came off first, followed by my heels, then my dress and her flannel shirt, and finally her jeans and both of our undies... all of which we left strewn in a haphazard trail as we stumbled from the living room to my bedroom. It had been months since I'd had an intimate partner, so it was no surprise that I was filled with ardor. But even more surprising was her own level of passion. After all, I'd watched her leave my bar with a man as recently as the previous week, and yet she was as wild as if she'd gone without for as long as I had. When it was all over and we lay, breathless, next to each other under the sheets, I looked at her with genuine wonder; and her expression mirrored mine. "That was incredible," she murmured. "I'm so glad you enjoyed it," I replied. "Is this your first time?" "With a woman? Yes. But I hope it's not my last." "I hope the same." "So you still think I'm interesting?" she asked with a shy smile. I cupped her face in my hands. "More than interesting. I think you're fascinating!" I exclaimed. "So are you, Chianti. And it really is a pretty name. Does it mean anything?" "Nope. It's just the name of a red wine that my Pappy liked." "Well, Chianti, I have to say... I really like red wine." "And I really like Summer." Then I wrapped her in my arms and held her tenderly, and so began the first of many beautiful nights together. THE END This is a joint collaboration between us and DavidP. A writing exercise, if you will, as my partner generally prefers to write first, and I add images later. But in this instance, David generated the images first, and then Gael wrote the story (and I typed and edited it) around those images. Here is David's original post that started it all: https://budgetpixel.com/p/31086 P.S. For those wondering why the blog cover image doesn't match the story at all, that's because it's a depiction of me (on the left), my partner Gael (in the middle, writing), and DavidP (on the right, holding the pictures). Those are our avatars, anyway. In reality, we're much older than pictured haha.