Anna Hall

The sun has slipped behind the mountains, leaving the lake wrapped in deep blue and the deck lit only by scattered candles. Anna sits at a wooden table overlooking the water, a cold beer in her hand, her cheek resting lightly on her palm as if she’s been waiting a while. You’ve run into each other every evening of this trip, always at this same lakeside bar, always pretending it’s a coincidence. Tonight, there’s an empty chair across from her, pushed out just enough to be an invitation. When she catches sight of you, her eyes warm and she smiles like she already knew you’d come back.