One
Ruth sat at her customary table in Ellington’s formal dining room and smiled as the waitress placed a glass of Chianti before her.
“Anything else I can get for you?” the waitress asked kindly.
“Oh, not just yet,” Ruth replied, “I’m waiting for my husband.” She looked up at the young woman and her smile grew. “It’s our anniversary today.”
“Is it?” the waitress replied with a wide grin, “Congratulations.”
“Thank you. Sixty one years, if you can believe it.”
“My! That’s quite a long time.”
“Yes, it is - worth every moment.”
“Well, I’ll check back with you in a bit.”
“Thank you, dear.”
When the waitress had gone, Ruth reached for her purse and pulled from its depths a single, delicate red rose, which she placed in the center of the table. She was immediately struck by the brilliant crimson of the petals and the deep green of the stem and leaves against the white cotton table cloth.
“Perfect,” she whispered to herself. She took a dainty sip of wine then placed her hands in her lap, sitting back in her chair and gazing out of the window at the gently falling snow in the dusky twilight.
