Fiction Friday: The Magic Hour

Hope you’ll enjoy hearing a bit more about Alison and Carlo….

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(Photo credit: KennethMoyle, via Flickr)

Eight o’clock has always been the magic hour. Well…always, in that nebulous way that something done once becomes “the way we’ve always done it.” In those years when Jeremy was young enough to go to bed early, but old enough to stay there for the night, eight was the hour when the night became theirs.

Carlo excavates his memory for the contours of those evenings. Candles, blankets on the floor, and the soft strains of Liszt are what he unearths, but somehow he’s sure that’s not the right tableau for this evening, an evening of new beginnings. No, he has to start simpler. Popcorn, with butter. Hot cocoa, with cinnamon sticks. A lighthearted romantic comedy. And blankets to snuggle beneath on the couch.

As the popcorn snaps in the otherwise silent house, he expects Alison to come see what’s stirring. But the bedroom door remains closed, the scene beyond hidden and still.

At last, all is ready. He hesitates, his stomach curling. After twenty-five years, the idea of wooing his wife feels disconcertingly risky. He picks up the mugs and treads the hallway, pausing before his bedroom door. He breathes a wordless prayer, takes a deep breath, and knocks.