Chapter Text
The fireplace was casting a warm glow upon the sitting room, as Alma perched on the settee, a book in her lap, and a glass in her hand.
Isabel, who lay on the adjacent sofa, a glass of her own in hand, raised an eyebrow at her friend. “Alma, you’ve been nursing that glass like it’s made of gold. Are you planning on savoring it until it turns into a vintage?”
Alma chuckled softly, the corners of her lips curling into a rare smile. “I can appreciate the finer things in life, Is.”
“You and your refined tastes,” Isabel playfully rolled her eyes, “I’ll have to find you a bottle of something truly fine one of these days.”
“Believe me, Is, this suits me just fine. I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Not much of a drinker? Come on, Alma, there’s no fun in that! Live a little, have another glass with me.” With that, Isabel poured herself another glass and gestured for Alma to hand over her own.
“I can’t, Is, the children may need me. One is far more than I should have.”
“Nonsense, Alma. A little wine won’t hurt.”
Alma eyed the glass in front of her, contemplating her offer. Isabel always had a way of making even the most normal moments seem like an adventure. Still, she was hesitant. It had gone past three, and she’d heard no signs of the children yet. Someone was sure to have a nightmare should she indulge.
“I’ve already had more than I usually do, Is. I don’t want to overdo it,” she replied, her tone cautious.
“Ma chérie, you’re tougher than that!” Isabel pouted playfully, her eyes filled with mock disappointment “ A few more sips won’t kill you. You may even enjoy it!”
Alma hesitated, her gaze flitting between the glass and Isabel. She had been so stressed lately, the weight of responsibility pressing down upon her shoulders in an ever present ache. Tonight.. maybe she could have a moment of respite.
“Alright, just a few sips,” Alma conceded. Isabel cheered triumphantly, quietly enough for the children not to hear. For that, Alma was thankful.
Isabel sat down, picking up her glass and raising it in the air. “To a well-deserved break, ma chérie.”
As their glasses met, Isabel noticed the way Alma’s shoulders relaxed. She took another drink of her own wine and watched as Alma returned to her book, sipping on her own glass, just a bit faster than before.