Almost Like Love(45)
He spoke casually, so she figured it was okay.
“You can set up the game on the coffee table,” she said as she headed for the kitchen. “Do you prefer red or white?”
“Red.”
Her grandparents had been wine connoisseurs, and she’d been working her way through their collection over the last few years. She hesitated a moment, wondering what to choose, then decided on a Château Lafite Rothschild. She filled two glasses but left the bottle in the kitchen, not wanting to be accused of wine snobbery. If Ian knew anything about the subject, he’d know this particular vintage would fetch well over $3,000 at auction.
Ian was sitting on the living room floor with his back against the sofa. There was a collection of multicolored polyhedral dice on the coffee table, along with a handful of miniatures and several sheets of paper.
She set the wineglasses down before sitting on the floor on the other side of the table. When he lifted his glass, she lifted hers, too.
“To friendship,” he said, and she felt a rush of relief—and a twinge of disappointment she immediately repressed.
“To friendship,” she echoed, and they both drank.
Ian’s eyes widened. “Holy hell,” he said, staring at the glass in his hand before taking another sip. “You have a whole bottle of this?”
She nodded. “My grandparents loved wine, and they left me their collection.”
“Damn,” he said appreciatively, inhaling the aroma. “I didn’t realize you knew anything about wine. I never saw you drink at a network party.”
“I don’t like to drink at work, even if it’s a social event. It’s too easy to have one too many and say something stupid.”
“You like to stay in control,” he said thoughtfully.
“Well, sure. At work, anyway. Doesn’t everyone?”
“Probably,” he agreed, taking one more sip, then setting his glass down. “Are you ready to get started?”
She nodded. “I played a little in high school, but I don’t remember much. I know you use the dice to create your character, though.”
“You can—but sometimes a Dungeon Master rolls characters in advance for a particular adventure.” He slid one of the sheets of paper over to her. “I created one for you, but if you don’t like her, we can roll one from scratch.”
Character Name: Red Sonja
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
There were several other details listed, including the armor she wore and the weapons she fought with.
Kate looked up from the sheet with a grin. “You’re letting me be Red Sonja? I’m surprised you even know who she is.”
“I didn’t before that night at the club when Arthur announced that you were a dead ringer for her.” He nodded towards the framed print on the wall. “I have to admit, I can see the resemblance.”
“Thank you, kind sir. And I’d love to play this character. Role-playing games are all about wish fulfillment, right? And I always wanted to be a warrior.”
“You’ve never been a warrior in real life?”
“I assume you mean metaphorically, and no. I create stories about heroes and heroines who fight evil, but in my own life I’ve never been very brave.”
Ian started to speak but then stopped himself. Kate wondered what he’d been about to say. She almost asked him, but then Gallifrey jumped up on the coffee table and swatted at one of the dice.
Ian picked it up from the floor as Gallifrey knocked another one off the table, and Kate scrambled to her feet.
“He’s looking for dinner,” she explained, and went to the kitchen to feed him.
“Explain to me why people like cats so much?” Ian asked when she came back.
She sat on the floor again, cross-legged this time. “Do you know what Jean Cocteau said about cats?”
“No, but I bet you’re about to change that.”
“He said, ‘I love cats because I love my home, and after a while they become its visible soul.’ ”
“That’s a little metaphysical for me.”
“But it’s true. For me, the soul of a home should be comfort—and cats are the very essence of comfort. When I see Gallifrey curled up on my bed in a patch of sunlight, it makes me feel warm and cozy and happy. And that’s how I want my home to feel.”
He looked around her living room for a moment, his eyes moving over the furniture, the art on her walls, the books and knickknacks on her shelves.
“You’ve succeeded. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place that feels warmer and cozier than this one.”
She was pleased by the compliment. “Well, thanks. That’s nice of you to say.”