I skipped Day 19 because I didn’t have time to type it up. Rest assured, however, I got it done. So far, I’ve written something new each day, just don’t always get them posted. Today’s short fiction is fun. I hope you enjoy it.

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                Solidad refolded the morning paper and placed it gently on her napkin-covered lap just as the waiter returned to her table.  He was amiable and attentive, but she waved him away before he could speak.  Caught off guard, he nodded politely and made an arc back toward his station.

                Paul stared at her through the steam rising like a mushroom cloud from his coffee mug.  She was as fierce and beautiful as he remembered, exuding authority with an ease unmatched by any other woman in the city.  Before arriving at the restaurant, he had worried that she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes.  Solidad, however, met his gaze again and again without hesitation.  She was as extraordinary as she was difficult to read.

                “Do you eat here often?” he asked.

                “Is that what you came all this way to ask me, Paul?” Not an ounce of sarcasm sullied her tone. She was too good to resort to that so quickly.

                Paul took a bite of his huevos rancheros and washed it down with orange juice.  He glanced back up at her as he dabbed his mouth with his napkin.  “I think you know what I came here for, Solidad.  We have unfinished business, you and I.”

                She shook her head, breaking eye contact to cut into her Eggs Benedict. “You’re early.”

                “That’s a matter of perspective,” Paul said with a hint of a smile. “Or perhaps, rather a matter of perception.  My boss would say that I’m right on time.”

                Solidad took a moment to evaluate the taste of her breakfast, then added some salt.  “If memory serves, your boss and I discussed 2011 specifically.”

                “You did.”

                “So you’re early.”

                He grinned and took another swig of OJ. He found her chestnut hair and charcoal eyes to be captivating. It wasn’t, however, a physical attraction. Solidad was certainly pretty, just not exceptionally so. It was her spirit that seduced him – the determination that seemed to soak through every fiber of her being. He could see every drop, sloshing around just behind her eyes like a well-aged scotch.

                “Now, Solidad, you know that my employer was quite purposely non-specific about his timeframe – as were you.  The year 2011 was mentioned solely as an example.”

                She pushed her plate away and sipped her Mimosa. “Shame on me, then, for not getting it in writing?”

                “You know as well as I, Solidad, that words have power, in literal meaning, translation, and even implication. They are flexible things, words, twisting and bending at the discretion of their wielder. Writing them down serves only to mire them in rigidity.”

                “Yes,” she said, “and such rigidity would be welcomed at this point.”

                “Nevertheless, madam, it was your choice to do business with us. No one put the proverbial gun to your head.” Paul finished his juice before refilling his coffee from a carafe on the table.

                “Why now?” she asked.

                “Does it matter?”

                “I suppose not.”

                She pulled her plate back in front of her and looked over at him with a question in her eyes.

                “By all means,” Paul said, “finish your breakfast. Even the Devil can wait for a good Hollandaise.”