A Simple Night

                                                                

George closed the door of his house with a soft push. The day was finally over. It was not a bad day, just long. He felt a quiet need to be alone. The city was still loud and full of movement outside, but inside, everything was calm and still.

He took off his shoes and put his jacket on the chair in the hallway. His steps were soft on the wooden floor as he walked to the kitchen. He did not turn on the big lights. Only a small light under the cupboards gave a warm glow. He did not need more. Not tonight.

He opened his wine cooler and took out a bottle of red wine. Nothing special it was there for a few weeks, waiting for a day like this. A simple wine from Alicante D.O., not expensive, not famous. But tonight, it was perfect.

Not special by name, but special for the moment.

He took the corkscrew, opened the bottle easily, and poured a glass. The wine was a deep red color and looked beautiful in the light. He took a sip. It was strong but soft, with a fruity taste and a smooth feel in the mouth. It had just enough body to relax him. It was 100% Monastrell, the local grape, and a little time in oak gave it calm and maturity.

He didn’t plan a big dinner, just something light. He opened the fridge and looked inside. He took some green leaves, cherry tomatoes, some leftover roasted pumpkin, and goat cheese. He mixed everything with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a little fresh black pepper. The salad was ready.

From the pantry, he took a small wooden board and added some cheese: manchego, brie, and aged cheddar. He also took some toast and a small jar of fig jam. No stress, no problems. Just good food and a little care.

He took everything to the living room. His favorite book was waiting on the arm of his old grey sofa. A soft jazz playlist was playing in the background very quiet, more like mood than music.

George sat down slowly, took a deep breath, and had another sip of wine. The weight of the day started to go away.

While he ate, he opened the book. It was an old novel he started again after many years. A book that grows with you and gives you something new every time. He found the page without looking. His hands remembered the place.

The words felt like an old friend. Outside, the light was gone. It was now twilight. The city kept moving cars passing, voices far away, a dog barking in the distance. But inside, time was different.

In the middle of the chapter, George poured more wine. He took a bite of brie with fig jam, enjoying the creamy texture and the sweet taste. He smiled without knowing it.

This the calm, the wine, the food, the story was exactly what he needed. No more. No less.

*All names and certain locations in the stories of this blog are fictional and any resemblance to real persons or places is puerly coincidental.