Night Owls

Jerry glanced down at the photograph in his hand, then back up again at the woman sitting alone at the back of the cafe.

It was definitely her. Older. Wiser. With traces of a troubled past lining her thin cheeks. He wanted to take a step forward, but his feet were heavy. Somehow, it felt like this woman was holding his entire fate in those wrinkled hands wrapped around her cup of coffee.

All at once a blinding light coursed through the space. Jerry and the woman froze. And then a creature appeared, seemingly from the air itself.

When he looked again, he smiled. Of course the sun was there. It hit the mistletoe right above them. She got up and walked towards him. Her cold cheeks touched his and he caught her natural scent. Smoky, raw, but sweet, like a crisp autumn breeze. 'Merry Christmas, son.'