The Perfect Dinner

It was midnight. Would she come? I waited in the small orange grove. I had brought the folding chairs, the table, and a tablecloth. Together with my small suitcase. But would she come?

Suddenly there was a distant light coming from the farmhouse. Moving slowly, inexorably, towards our new life together. My heart pounded like a jackhammer. She had responded to my missive! We would share a splendid dinner, then walk hand in hand to the train station. Catch the first train to wherever it would take us. Start from scratch.

I could make out her fetching silouhette and the picnic basket. But where was the suitcase? Did she want to leave her past completely behind? I knew that something had bothered her from the moment we met. There was something in her green eyes that said “Do not go here.” But, together with the freckles scattered around her face, her ginger hair and inviting smile, I was hooked like a bass in a fishing competition.

We shared a warm embrace. We kissed, open mouthed. I was full of expectation. The picnic basket was redolent with fine odors. The wine was a fine Merlot that we drank straight from the bottle. The roast was cooked to perfection.

It was the best meal I had ever had. We shared titilating glances.

“Where is your suitcase?” I ventured.

“Oh I thought that I would start completely over,” she said. Her teeth shone with the reflection of the full moon.

“The food was delicious, I have never tasted meat like that before,” I offered.

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “That was Tim. He was a tough guy, but look how tender he became in the end. Go figure.”

She pulled out a long knife. She was wearing running shoes.

I ran, knowing I would never make it.