May 16, 2019
The sounds that the night made, the crickets, his neighbor’s loud baseball game, radio blaring from three houses down, they were a comforting presence. Peonies and lavender blooming, much like his grandparents’ garden, bug zapper crackling, the large charcoal grill’s cooling hiss, he closed his eyes and he listened, inhaling lemony candles, roses, the smell of smoked barbecue pork and the wafting aroma of pie.
She hadn’t stayed after dinner, declining politely, but sparing a glance at the porch swing. He wasn’t sure if that mattered. Maybe he still had a chance.
