20 November 2007, 11pm, Editor's Office, Manchester Examiner

Henry Wilkins once again found himself pouring the drinks after the Manchester Mercy Hospital Board meeting. His lovely counterpart, Gretchen Guebler had again won the bet and unerringly predicted the exact pitch of Merril Cody's first shrill utterances. It wasn't really that he minded losing, really. Gretchen's captivating presence and gracious charm had made at least one night a month more bearable for the widowed editor-in-chief. The unobtrusive tavern owner had a keen sense of people that he truly admired. Of course, Henry's innate competitive nature kept him making the bets, in part because he loved the conversation, but also because he was incredibly fond of the woman.

He handed Gretchen a glass of very expensive brandy that he had looked all over New England for. It was a rare brand from Europe that they had talked of some years ago that he'd finally located in a "spirits shoppe" in a small town in Western Connecticut during one of his fishing trips. Her smile as she sniffed and identified the drink made the years of looking worthwhile. Taking his own seat, he smiled to her, sipped himself and asked "So, how have things been treating my favorite tavern owner?"

Gretchen sniffed at the brandy with a small smile "The Squirrel is a very busy place."

"That it is. I gather the little incident with the fight in there did no permanent damage to the glasswork?" He sipped again, "You know how fond I am of those windows."

She smiled a little. "Mark Renquist is a fine stained glass artist. I had him do the original work because of his restorations in Concord and Worcester."

"Oh, no doubt. That church he did in Worcester got national attention." He shifted attention to a new topic, "What do you think about all the hubub out of the Enquirer?"

She twisted her face into a wry expression of distaste, "Chaser is a fool, but most of New Hampshire knows that already." A small sigh escaped her lips as she set the glass down, "I suppose that he has little enough to do these days--perhaps talk of vampires and aliens has bored him into straight gossip?"

Henry chuckled, "Perhaps so." He offered a hopeful continuation, "I heard McCallister is recovering, on the psyche ward, but recovering."

Gretchen nodded and picked the glass back up, "As did I. I guess that Chaser has been getting some flack for the whole affair. Cynthia told me when I called in that he was openly attacked for his folly by a crowd of patrons--including Mrs. McCallister."

"Oh?" Henry showed his surprise openly.

A very pleased smile crossed her lips, "It would seem that she delivers quite a slap."

The already amused look on Henry's face changed to that of a laugh "My my my...I wonder if poor Wyatt even noticed? All those years of reporting crop circles, aliens, and backwoods horror stories may have rotted his brain to the point he can't feel a good slap...."

"I suspect that our dear Mr.Chaser will need a life changing experience to fall on him before he takes up honest work, Henry." She shifted in her seat, "I, for my part, will go back to doing what I do best."

He nodded once, with some emphasis and changed tracks again, "So, is Brandenburg your candidate of choice?"

"Likely."

"Thought so, when I saw his take on historical preservation issues." Henry smiled a little, "Heard that the Historical Society computerization is coming along nicely."

She nodded with a smile, "Gerhardt tells me that things are ahead of schedule. He does like the tax break for the donation, too."

The two continued talking until about 2am, when Henry had to beg off for bed. As he started up the car to head home, he thought how things could be in a different world. Gretchen was a fascinating woman, one he'd not mind settling down with.

"Ah, but if she were even remotely interested in you, old man. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself." The silence confirmed the truth of it for him. He knew that wasn't possible for either of them, concluding both to be too old and busy with their lives to make big changes in the scheme of things.

"Maybe someday, Henry. Maybe." he said softly, popping the Lexus into gear and driving off into the night.