We clustered around a thick, dark, round dining room table topped with an abundance of expertly arranged bouquets. While Cecil took a luxurious sip of a syrupy liqueur I didn't recognize but was told was “similar to cognac but made for the particular digestive needs of people with my condition" I leaned forward in the way-too-plushy chair and waited. Under the table, my leg was bouncing non-stop, a sure sign that I was either nervous or excited.
I was not excited.
Next to me, Xander relaxed with a snifter of actual cognac, perfectly content to sit in silence. Not that I had any idea what a snifter was before that night, but when Cecil had brought out the cognac, Xander had pulled a snifter out of his beloved fanny pack, proudly announcing it by name. It's a glass with a small stem. Big d
