We would often overhear the old woman on reception telling a caller that they were full tonight; see couples drift back into the darkness, hungry and disappointed at the ‘No tables – Sorry!‘ sign in the window.
Yet, within a dimly lit alcove, one table would remain untaken. A single place setting, one glass; a carafe of house red breathing gently in the glow of a melting candle; a single white rose.
I didn’t know the owner’s story, whether he was married, or had kids. Not sure if anybody knew why the table was always left empty – just never seemed our place to ask.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.