A large order of General Tso’s chicken later, Micah sat on the floor with his back against the cushions of Jonathan’s wraparound white sofa, half-empty paper plates and take-out containers on the coffee table in front of him. His host stood before him, pouring a dark burgundy wine into Micah’s offered glass. It was his third refill, and added to the beer in his system, Micah had a pretty good buzz going on. Good wine, good food, good company…he really wouldn’t have wished for anything more.
Jonathan settled on the couch behind him, so Micah pushed away from the coffee table and sank down beside his friend. “What a year,” he said, raising his glass as if to toast. “What’d your secret Santa give you?”
“You’re drinking it.” Jonathan sipped at his glass of wine for emphasis. “Did you know Ry
