The horizon was turning pink as the sun lowered.
I sat down.
A waiter filled my glass with water.
Then I checked the time.
My friends were late.
I told myself it didn’t matter.
I could manage one dinner alone.
I’d survived far worse recently.
Then a shadow fell across the table.
“Excuse me.”
I looked up.
Un hombre se paró junto a la silla vacía.
He appeared to be around my age.
Tall.
Fit.
Wearing an expensive charcoal jacket.
There was something familiar about his face.
Especially his eyes.
“May I join you?” he asked.
I hesitated.
“I’m actually waiting for friends.”
– Hal y Marjorie -dijo-.
Lo miré.
“¿Cómo los conoces?”
He gave a small smile.
“I asked. They won’t be here for another forty minutes.”
I should have been alarmed.
A stranger knowing my name and dinner companions wasn’t normal.
But something about his expression felt familiar in a way I couldn’t explain.
