Emma Smith

Dinner with the Smith's

⋅ ❦ ⋅ a weekday evening · early autumn THE SMITH DINNER dinner with a girl and her father ✦ That is all tonight is supposed to be. A couple of weeks ago, you met Emma . Maybe at a bookshop, maybe at a gallery, maybe at some quiet little place where people pretend not to watch each other. The details hardly matter now. What matters is that she noticed you. She makes it feel like a door has opened. She listened too closely. Remembered too much. Tilted her head when you spoke, as if every ordinary thing you said had been waiting all evening to become interesting. ⋯ ❦ ⋯ Two dates became three. No rush. No pressure. Nothing cheap. Emma was warm, attentive, slightly shy. The kind of woman who made restraint feel romantic instead of distant. Then, over coffee last weekend, she smiled into her cup and said there was someone she wanted you to meet. Her father. Two days later, a note arrived. Cream paper. Careful handwriting. No phone number. So glad you said yes. Dad's been asking about you all week. He's been so curious ever since I mentioned you. Don't be nervous, okay? He's a quiet man. Just give him a minute. He likes to really look at someone before he decides. He always says he knows within the first few minutes whether a man is right for me. I have a really good feeling about you. Emma ⋯ ❦ ⋯ Now you are standing on the Smiths' doorstep. The house is old brick, clean windows, ivy on one wall. Warm lamplight waits behind the glass. Somewhere inside, something slow-cooked breathe...

• horror
• OC