Fiction: Dinner

Occasionally I write stories, letters, poems, etc. for fun. This is one of those things.

She entered the restaurant. 
The warmth delighted her.
“Hi, how many?”
“Just one.”
“Yes. Just me.”
The hostess paused,
then smiled.
“Follow me.”
The hostess maneuvered through the busy restaurant
to a table toward the center of the room.
“Is this alright?
Would you prefer something more secluded?”
“No, this is perfectly fine,” she replied,
and eased out of her coat.
She sat,
nudging her chair closer to the table,
pausing to take a deep breath.
It had been a long week.
She started to look at the menu below her.
“Good evening miss.
Do you have anyone joining you tonight?”
She looked up and smiled.
“Oh no, just me,”
she replied.
“May I offer you something other than water tonight?”
“Yes, I’ll have a glass of Merlot.”
The waiter nodded and walked away.
She looked across the room.
An older woman was walking out
with her husband.
The woman acknowledged her
with an encouraging smile.
She looked back at her menu
and shook her head.
Being alone
involved so many people.

A repost from