I still don't know why Maude enjoyed coming here. "It's got a certain charm," she'd say, waving an arm around in a feeble attempt to highlight what it was about the run-down stone walls or some other small elements that drew her - us - back to this boring backwater again and again.
"I just like it," she would say, and that smile of hers would break on through and because of that, I tried to like it too. I did like it in a way, because of her. For her. We always intended on moving here, but you know how it is. Next year. Life always gets in the way.
Some day one day just never seems to happen. You plan for it, but then without warning, it can’t. A wonderful shared dream together doesn’t work so well when there’s just the one of you. At least she didn’t suffer. I stayed away for a long time, hating this place that reminded me of Maude. Why did this town bring her joy when my joy is now gone forever? But because it reminded me of her, I eventually was drawn back here, and now I’m part of the ‘quaint local colour’ she loved so much. What’s a country pub without a maudlin drunk?
It's been ages since I've done any writing, time to get back in the saddle and try and make it a more consistent habit. This is my entry for Trifecta's 110th week, we have to use the word quaint somewhere in the Story. A distinct lack of magic, aliens, happiness and humour in this one, so quite out of character for me, but it tied in so well with this previous piece from long ago that I had to make it a closer match.