Baiting

The text read, “I pick up Hannah at 3:00. Until then, I will be having coffee at the shop across from the school. Meet me?”

He looked at his watch. 2:40. It would take five minutes to get there. He had to leave for work at 3:00.

He drove, the smell of slow cooked beans wafting from the back seat. Pot luck at work, and his beans were always a favorite. Simple really, slow cook them, lots of ketchup. Ketchup made most things better.

She was sitting outside, leaves strewn across a plastic table that was bolted to the ground. When his car pulled in, she stood up, half waved, half smiled. Steam from two cups of coffee blew to the east, a storm coming. He took a deep breath, opened the car door and walked towards her. The diamond she still wore stared back at him, conspicuous and violently cruel, and he wished for the fiftieth time he could just once say no.

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About fenster

There are some who call me, Tim?

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