It was quieter than she had expected. There were usually a few people out picking up late night groceries or meeting friends. Not tonight. Only an occasional siren broke the calm, and the solitude of her footsteps echoed sharply off the brick walls as she passed. Alone and unafraid in the dark, she stretched out her legs in a quick stride.

Diane turned down an unfamiliar street and saw the glowing lights of an older style pub. It seemed to sparkle among the other sleeping buildings. The amber stained-glass framing the plain windows looked friendly and inviting, like a toy store at Christmas time. She hadn't really noticed the place before on her rounds and her curiosity got the best of her as she walked up to the door.

The smoky warmth of the pub enveloped her as she entered. After passing several tables of people engaged in conversation, she sat down at a secluded spot in the back. Some people were having a very late dinner, but most were just welcoming the night with the beverage of their choice. The bar itself was of gleaming oak, ornately carved by a previous generation. Overhead she noticed a beautiful pressed tin ceiling that showed years of careful attention.

"Can I get you something, Miss?" a rumpled bartender asked.

"Coffee...please."

He nodded and gave her table a quick wipe with a damp cloth. She took off her coat and settled in, scanning the room out of habit. Diane smiled as the bartender returned with her coffee which looked and smelled remarkably fresh. Steam rose hypnotically from the cup as she cradled it in her hands for warmth.

Someone was doing a very poor job of plunking out a tune on what sounded like a piano from the other side of the room. The annoyed rustling of the other patrons must have been heard, because the music stopped abruptly. Diane laughed to herself and blew on her coffee. She sat for quite a while, slowly warming from the inside out as the drank. Nobody knew her here and the pressure to remain detached from the drama of her life lifted.

The piano began again, different this time. Better.

Softly... slowly a familiar song began to drift through the haze of the pub.

This is nice. Diane sat back with her cup and closed her eyes, listening and remembering the time when she and Bobby had danced to this song. Frank Sinatra had crooned to them from their apartment stereo as they held each other. She had her ear pressed tightly against his chest as they moved, listening to his steady heartbeat. Bobby's heart.

Humming...

Swaying...

Diane let herself drift into the memory.