Dinner was quickly whisked together. 

Upon arrival, James had excitedly run up the dirt lot and inside the house. Shaking his shoes off at the door, he sped to the kitchen and pulled out ingredients from the fridge and cupboards. Concentrating deeply, James sliced and diced a five-course meal to the best of his abilities. He had grown-up watching Miss Sharon and his own mother’s mastery of the kitchen so it may not be at all surprising that everything had been eloquently arranged and in the oven in record time. Happily, he shed his clothes, bathed and tried his best to look presentable. He had already shaved that day but went over his face with a razor, just in case. He then tried his best to lay down his curls with the pomade. He would’ve spent far more time in front the mirror making his hair eloquently effortless had the smell of his olive oil biscuits not reached his nose. James raced down the stairs and threw on his oven mitts and apron before removing the tray. Upon placing the biscuits onto a cooling rack, a chime rung from the front door. His guest had arrived. 

James hurriedly shook of his gloves and walked over to the front door. He breathed in quickly and left out a deep sigh before turning the knob. It was a bit hard to see Claude as the last bits of sunlight shone behind him. He at first appeared in silhouette but slowly came into focus. He grinned devilishly in in a black and white dress shirt with the top buttons undone. A delicate gold necklace dangled from his neck and reflected bits of light. He wore burnt orange pleated linen trousers that hugged tightly on his hips. He looked absolutely divine. 

James nervously opened the door but giddily welcomed his guest. "Come in! I just took some biscuits out," said James gesturing him inside. James was glad that he too had cleaned up nicely. James wore a black polo shirt with tan linen trousers that while not as form-fitting as Claude's, still showed his toned body. Claude stepped into the home and handed James the flowers, "It smells amazing! Thank you for having me at such late notice." James closed the door behind him, "Oh not at all. The pleasure is mine."

 In Claude’s hands were a small bouquet of flowers and a slim bottle of red wine. “These are for you. The wine, as promised and a thank you gift.” He handed the bouquet of flowers to James who eagerly accepted them. “I was not sure of what to get you so late in the day so I picked some up and arranged them.”

“You arranged them yourself?” asked James admiring the gesture and closing the door behind them. 

“Yes, my grandmother taught me when I was a kid. She hated the look of store bought sets and urged I do the same.”

James gestured for Claude to walk in front of him towards the dining room and obliged. “I didn’t know people were so meticulous. Regardless, they are beautiful. Please sit in the dining while I'll go put these in some water and set them at the table." Claude nodded and took a seat in the small dining area. In all of his adult life, James had never been gifted flowers; he lightly sniffed them and smiled to himself before fetching an old vase and placing the bouquet on the dinner table.

"Okay,” declared James as he came in with plates of food, “here is the first course.” He set the plate first in front of Claude and then on his side. “Would you like for me to open your wine?”

Claude smiled and held his glass up, “Yes please.”

James uncorked the wine and poured for his guest and himself. 

“This smells great, what is it?”

“It’s bruschetta with tomato, thin parsnips and ricotta. It goes very well with reds.”

“Wow, sounds like you know your way around a kitchen.” Claude took a bite and looked at James with amazement, “Oh my god. This is absolutely delicious!” James laughed as Claude had yet to swallow. 

“Ha-ha, I’m glad you like it,” James replied, taking a bite as well. “I really enjoy cooking and don’t get to do it very often. So thank you for the inspiration and the opportunity.”

“The pleasure is all mine. But why don’t you get to cook?” inquired Claude, now fully stuffing the food in his mouth, “Are you not able as a priest? Is there a rule? It’s such a shame; you are obviously talented.”

“Ha-ha, no. As a priest, I live with other priests and we all take turns. Some can cook well and others… well, let’s just say it’s best their vocation remains with the church.” Claude chuckled and sipped his wine. James followed suit, taking on bigger sips. 

“I’ve noticed,” James remarked, “you ask a lot about my occupation. Am I the first priest you’ve ever met?”

“Mmhm,” replied Claude while finishing chewing, “I wasn’t raised Christian so this is entirely foreign to me. I knew people went to church and did rituals during certain times of the year but quite honestly, I never paid attention to any of it.”

“Were you raised religious? Or is your family agnostic?”

“I think we are technically Jewish but both my parents never followed through. We mostly stuck to Atheism unless we were with my grandparents. Both our sets of families are very devout.” James looked on at Claude with curiosity. “Are you surprised of my background, father?”

“Slightly. Your name is French so I had assumed you were of my faith.”

“You are right, my family is French on one side. My mother’s. My father’s family is Russian but my birth being unconventional and the Garnier’s being the more powerful of the two families, dad and I took my mom’s name.” 

“That's absolutely astounding and uncommon! No wonder you’re such a peculiar person.”

“In a good way?” Claude asked with an empty plate and nearly empty glass. 

“Only in the best way possible.” 

The rest of the dinner was dominated with delicious foods and endless wine. James opened up another bottle as the two discussed politics, foreign policy, and books they were currently reading. While they both noted an age gap between their music tastes, they both voted Democrat, were avid Johnny Carson fans, and loved Jaws. As they uncorked yet another wine, the two of them happily drank as if they had known each other all their lives. This was not the mere polite conversation James had grown accustomed to entertaining but this time with Claude, there was a genuine expression of his own feelings, likes, and dislikes. For the last fifteen years, James didn’t stray away from the thin perimeter of the church and of heavenly expectations. Like a dog tied to a tree, he could only stray so far. For the first time, in a very long time, James felt the leash around his neck loosen enough to go a bit further, to enjoy his company. 

To him, the young man was wild. A self-proclaimed heretic, Claude spoke of his passions and his distaste for organized religion. Without fear, he expressed that his calling to become a lawyer came from the aftermath of Stonewall and death of Harvey Milk. He was erudite, ardent, unshaken, and strong-willed. James could hardly believe the man was ten years his junior. Rather than hide behind the cloak of God, to James, Claude defied Him and succeeded. He was charming, challenging and James couldn't help but lean in a bit closer with every word out of his mouth.

“Believe it or not Claude,” James announced loudly and tipsily, “we have one final meal.”

Claude was slumped in his chair and dramatically placed his arm over his stomach. “If you keep feeding me, I am going to have to roll to my car.”

“Don’t worry! It’s a small dessert and it has booze.”

“Ooh! Booze! What is it?” 

James left the dining room but from the kitchen yelled, “Okay, it’s going to sound weird but trust me!” 

As James walked back to the dining room, the sound of clinking glassware followed. He set a small tulip shaped glass in front of Claude then placed two fat slices of a dry-looking pastry. “What is this?” asked Claude, rightfully confused.

“So, this is something my mother used to make. They are olive oil biscuits, or cookies depending on your definition. And you have it with—” Before finishing his sentence, James pulled out a small bottle of wine and poured it into the tulip glasses. “Grappa of Vino Nobile.”

“James,” Claude sighed, “this is a lot of different things at once.”

“You’ve got to trust me. Yes, it is weird but it is very good! Now, take your biscuit,” James, rather than take a seat, sat on the dining table right next to Claude. He held his biscuit out towards him hoping Claude would follow along. He playfully  but reluctantly followed suit. “And dunk it in the wine.”

“Absolutely not. How is that dessert?”

“It’s a sweet wine and it’s a nice biscuit. Look, I’ll do it.” James dipped his biscuit and ate it. “See? Delicious.” 

Claude scrunched his nose in doubtful manner. He looked at James then at the biscuit and back at James. “If I end up sick, I am blaming you.” He then proceeded to dunk the biscuit into the wine and nervously take a bite. 

“And your verdict?”

“… Weird but… kinda good.” James cackled and stood off the table and Claude laughed in response as well. It may have been the booze hitting their heads but everything seemed so jovial and remarkable. 

“James?” Claude called out after finishing his little glass of wine and setting it down on the table. “I know it’s gotten late but, if you don’t have anything going on tomorrow, would it be alright to drink a bit more?”  It was indeed quite late. James could feel a low tide of fatigue wash upon him. Afterall, his day starts at sunrise and the following day was meeting with the congregation. While Claude’s youth and  conversation was lively and exciting, he had his own responsibilities to his town and churchgoers. James wasn’t a kid anymore who could even keep up with the drinking of a college student. That is why naturally, the answer that left James’s lips was a resounding, “Of course. Let’s head to the sitting room.”