MEETING GREG I

It took Holly twenty-five minutes to get to the restaurant from her house. She slowed down her sedan, headlight winking off the back of a Range Rover casually also driving into the lot, her hands were tightening against the steering wheel impatiently and she gnawed on her cheeks from the inside. The tires clacked over wooden bridge, then went silent when she hit the paved road of the parking lot.

When she finally found a space and parked her car, she opened the door and hopped out. The gust of cold that came at her was nothing she was prepared for. The autumn cold whistled loudly, and fought with violence. Holly shivered in her strapless dress, her arms hugging onto her shoulders as her teeth threatened to shatter. The cold seeped into her innards, attempting to numb her bones in the process. Very fast-paced, she approached the entrance of the restaurant, to be in a warm space as fast as she could be.