Margo had clicked “send” before she could talk herself out of it. That was three days ago. Now she sat in the corner booth of a café that used to be a hardware store, watching the door.
“Fog is sexy,” June said by way of hello. women seeking women 74
Her hands remembered the weight of books. Her heart remembered the weight of losing Elaine twelve years ago. She hadn’t dated since—not really. A few tentative dinners. A woman named Fran who talked through every movie. Another named Delia who showed up drunk to a matinee. Margo had clicked “send” before she could talk
“Women seeking women, 74. Retired librarian. Love dogs, rainy afternoons, and books that take their time. Not looking for a project or a nurse. Looking for someone to argue with about whether fog is sad or sexy. Let’s get coffee and see who looks away first.” “Fog is sexy,” June said by way of hello
“That’s the worst take I’ve heard in a decade,” Margo said, and smiled for the first time in weeks.
As Margo drove home, the radio played something old and slow. She caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. For a moment, she didn’t see 74. She saw a woman still willing to be surprised.
When the café began to close, June walked Margo to her car. They stood in the damp evening, mist curling around the streetlights.