Emma stood in the alley, smoking, thinking of the past, of how she had felt. And how lucky she had been.
She had seen Parker and fallen in love with him. They began to take lunch together, to date, and it was three months from the first, her eyes touched him that he suggested they move in together.
He didn’t say, love or marriage or serious; those keywords which mattered. She had felt it was too soon, especially since he treated it so casually.
“I’m not a hook up…” she said, and instead of him dissuading her, he’d retorted…”You aren’t a hook up? This isn’t a hook up?”.
Magic words which had her racing home.
Standing in the alley behind the bar tonight, Emma went to her purse, wiped her eyes, took a glance in her compact mirror.
Pleased with her appearance, she strode to the roadside, waved for a taxi, and had him let her off at the corner shop.. She bought a bottle of wine, a pack of cigarettes and went home to celebrate the kindness of fate.