It was a dark and stormy night.

The wind threw the door open as he turned the handle. He paused at the entry and looking back as sheets of freezing rain blew almost horizontally.

He stepped across the threshold. With an effort he closed the door behind him and stood dripping on the rug.

“What’s it like outside?” a voice from deep in the interior of cabin asked.

“Dark”, was his monosyllabic reply.

“Did you bring it?”

He reached into his pocket and took out a brown paper bag. She stepped around the corner of the kitchen. The robe she wore hung provocatively off her shoulders. Parted slightly, they revealed, and concealed, the body he longed to know again.

Her eyes, passed over him. “You’re dripping,” she said.

“It’s wet”, he replied.

She walked to him with cat like elegance. She tilted her head and held out her hand. “Give it to me,” she whispered.

He placed the bag in her hand. She held it in her palm. With a single tear she ripped it open.

“Damn you, I wanted Grey Poupon” she shouted.