PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter
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Her tears add salt to the sauce she stirs.
He lingers in the doorway, watching, his suitcase a burden.
She averts her face, hiding red eyes.
Snow hugs the window ledge, inches already, so silent. Last year they constructed a snowman that melted the next day.
“Maybe you shouldn’t go yet. The storm,” she says.
“Maybe you’re right. I mean, if it’s okay.”
Their eyes engage, briefly. She stares at her sauce, he at his shoes.
“I can be an idiot,” he confesses. She smiles. “Me, too.”
She extends the spoon to him for a second opinion.
end 2/24/2017 (99 words)