Chapter Text
Alina flopped down on the deck chair, careful not to spill her wine. That certainly wouldn't improve her mood this evening.
The sun had set an hour ago. This early in May there generally weren't mosquitoes around, but Alina still lit a citronella candle just in case. She lit another one just for the ambiance and sank back into her chair.
"This is nice," she muttered out loud, then checked to see if any of her neighbors were out on their decks. No one was—it was still just this side of chilly, although Alina didn't mind. She'd been out on Montrose Beach while it was sleeting in early April, looking for the return of the incredibly rare piping plovers that nested there. This was balmy in comparison.
And it was nice out here. The deck overlooked a quiet part of the Chicago River, close to several of the parks that lined its banks. This area was well north of the Loop and Goose Island, where the river was restrained with metal seawalls. Here, the banks were natural, and in the past decade there had been major efforts to restore habitats in the parks around her. She regularly volunteered for river cleanups and native wildflower planting.
"Better than any date," she muttered, and sipped her wine. "Especially not with Mal."
Their date hadn't been great. Alina's coworker Raisa had set them up, insisting that since they both liked to spend time outdoors, they would get along. That...hadn't exactly been the case. Mal was training for an ultramarathon and saw the landscape as something to conquer or speed past, not pay attention to. He talked a lot about himself, but didn't listen to her. When he said the Chicago River was gross and wouldn't listen when she talked about how much cleaner it was than it used to be, and all the species that could now be found there.
"Otters," she muttered. "He didn't want to hear about the otters! Who doesn't want to hear about otters?"
"QWOK!" squawked a bird from the riverbank, right next to her deck.
"You said it," she said. The bird squawked again, loud and distinctive.
"Black-crowned Night Heron, yeah?" she said. "Why aren't you with your friends over in the zoo, hmmm?"
The Lincoln Park Zoo had had a large colony of night herons for over a decade. They currently roosted in the trees in the red wolf enclosure. As expected, they had been migrating into the area over the last month and a half, according to her friends who volunteered with the plover project and were interested in night herons as well.
She'd certainly seen the herons around. They mostly hunted at night, but she'd seen plenty of them during the day too. Just a few blocks north of her apartment, the North Branch of the Chicago River met the North Channel, part of the system that had reversed the flow of the river a century ago. There had once been a dam at the confluence, but now the water cascaded over a series of rock ledges instead, and it was a popular place for cormorants, ducks, and gulls as well as multiple species of herons. There were even some herons there who stayed over the winter, instead of heading for Florida or Louisiana like others of their kind.
"Qwok!"
She slowly walked to the edge of the deck, and leaned on the railing. Even without her candles, it was never properly dark out here. Chicago had a long way to go with light pollution. She saw a silhouette on the riverbank—the distinctive hunched neck and back and long legs of a night heron.
She didn't want to startle it, but it didn't move away. Then again, she'd seen herons on the railing of the riverwalk downtown, not seeming to care at all about the large crowds of people walking by.
She walked a few steps back to pick up her wineglass, then leaned on the wooden railing as she sipped it. The water murmured as it flowed by, and a few cicadas started up their chorus. "Mal doesn't know what he's missing," she muttered.
"QWOK!" the heron squawked, as if it agreed with her.
*
"Salmon quiche?" called the woman behind the counter at First Slice Pie Cafe. It was just a few blocks from Alina's house on the other side of the river, and one of her favorite places to go for lunch while working from home.
Alina got up from her table to get it, almost colliding with a man who was doing the same thing.
"Salmon quiche for Alina," the woman corrected. "And a black coffee."
"I'm sorry," said the man, in a quiet velvety voice.
"It's all good," said Alina. "You didn't actually run into me. And the salmon quiche here is incredible." To the woman behind the counter, she said, "Thank you."
"Salmon quiche for Aleksander," the woman said, placing another one next to the first, both freshly warmed and garnished. "With a caramel latte."
"Thank you," said Aleksander, picking up his own food and drink. "And I agree," he said to Alina. "It's my favorite."
Alina looked at him properly then. He was gorgeous, like he had just stopped at the cafe for lunch after doing a menswear photo shoot.
She had come to the cafe for a break from designing ads for a client. She could already hear their complaints about the amount of white space she left (essential!) in her head. So instead of thinking about that, she said, "You clearly have good taste. About the quiche, I mean. I'm not so sure about the coffee drink. That sounds very sweet."
"The sweeter the better, I think," he said, and sat down at a table with a laptop open on it.
Whew, he needs a podcast, she thought, hoping she wasn't blushing. She held up her own drink like she was toasting him. “Well, enjoy!” she said, holding up her drink like she was toasting him with it.
He did the same with his.
She sat down at her table with her own food and drink, enjoying every bit of the salmon quiche. She tried not to look over at Aleksander too often, although a couple of times she thought she caught him looking her way as well. When she had finished her meal and left, he seemed intently absorbed in his work, and she didn't want to disturb him.
Back to the content mines, she thought, and headed home, crossing the river on the way.
*
That evening, she sat on the deck again. She had brought home an extra slice of the quiche for dinner and ate it as she watched the river and the sunset.
"QWOK!" came a familiar loud call. A night heron came flying toward her from the other side of the river, settling on the bank next to her deck. She had no way of knowing if it was the same heron from last night, but she wondered if it was.
She leaned on the rail as she watched it, eating her quiche. Before she realized, a few salmon crumbs fell from her plate toward the heron. The heron gobbled them up, then looked up at her as if it were asking for more.
"Nope, sorry," she said. "No human food for you. That was an accident." She really, really didn't want to train a night heron to come to her deck, even if she enjoyed its incidental company. They were wild animals. "There are plenty of fish in the river!"
Maybe it was just the normal hunched posture of the species, but it really seemed like the heron was sulking as it (why did she keep thinking "he?") walked to the edge of the water and stood completely still. After a minute or two, he stuck out his head, his long plumes bobbing, and caught something.
"See, what did I tell you?" she whispered.