"Happy birthday, darling." Sybil laid a small box, wrapped in red foil and tied with a gold ribbon, on the table between her and Red.
Red's eyebrows crept toward her hairline. "Oh," she said, sliding the box toward her, gingerly, as if she was afraid it might contain something dangerous, something volatile. "I didn't think you –"
"Would remember?" Sybil laughed loudly, trying to slice through the strange tension that had sprung up around what should have been a happy moment. "What kind of person would I be, if I forgot my friends' birthdays?"
"I never told you when my birthday was," Red said through a strained chuckle, "so this is really unexpected. But thank you, all the same."
"Don't mention it, sweetie. Besides, birthdays are public record." Sybil pulled her planner out of her purse, flipped to the contacts section, and turned it around so Red could read the information gathered there. "And when I noticed that yours was the only birthday missing from my list, I made it a point to find out. Go on, open your present! I picked it especially for you; I think it would work very well on you."
Sybil grinned as Red undid the ribbon and carefully unwrapped the box to reveal a bottle of perfume.
"Thank you," Red said, removing the bottle from its box. "La Femme Provocante. I haven't seen this one before."
"Naturally. It's a special formula from Rodrigue Babin. Made to order."
Red spritzed a small amount of perfume on her wrist and sniffed it. "It smells lovely."
"Right? Perfect for those intimate evening performances, and …" Sybil sighed as images of Red sitting beside her on the couch in her apartment drifted through her mind. The scent of perfume soon accompanied them, and she wondered how it would smell in Red's hair, on her skin, and how warm that skin would feel beneath her fingers … "I'll put you in touch with Rodrigue," she said, snapping back to reality.
"You don't have to do that," Red said, a little too quickly. She fumbled with the bottle and put it back in the box. "I … don't wear that much perfume. I'll save this for special occasions."
"Oh." Special occasions. In other words, never. "Well, don't worry, dear, if you run out, just let me know. I'll be happy to get you more." Sybil's grin soured and she looked out the window of the café. Raindrops pelted the glass, distorting the world outside, chilling the marrow in her bones.
"I hate rainy days," she muttered.
"Hm?"
"I said I hate this weather," Sybil said, turning toward Red and dialing up her smile again. "The damp air makes my hair unmanageable."
"I like it. It makes ordinary moments feel cozy." Red wrapped her slender fingers, nails painted a shade darker than her eyes, around her coffee cup, and Sybil swore she could feel them, warm and soft, around her own hands.
Cozy. Maybe Red was right.
Let the rain fall.