We met over scones.
“Are they really ‘the best this side of town‘?” twinkling eyes had asked. “The best this side of the country.”
Takeaway soon evolved into breakfast. It’s not like we sat in the café. That would not be proper. We usually strolled by the flower beds as he regaled me with his always intriguing, sometimes scandalous, tales of travel. Amazing how he could simultaneously devour his scones, and ofttimes even mine. But then buttery warm scones will make you do that.
“These are the best. I’m going to miss them,” he had said.
I don’t know… somehow, they just don’t taste as good anymore.
Written for the Friday Fictioneers prompt of 23 Oct 2020 hosted by our wonderful Rochelle.
Cheers to you on your 8th anniversary as Friday Fictioneers facilitator and God bless.