"I'm in love with a fairy tale."

It was getting more toward evening as Anna took a shortcut through the park. She was on her way home from the grocery store she had a particular fondness for when she spotted a man sitting on a bench in front of the fountain that acted as the center mark for the park. He was alone, holding a bouquet of roses. Anna almost walked right past - and she certainly would have – but there was something about his face that made her stop. He had the look of a man whose hopes and dreams seemed to be teetering on the verge of being crushed, but wanted to hide that behind a smile.

She would know. She'd seen that look far too often staring back at her in the mirror.

For a few moments Anna wondered what she should do. The man had glanced at her, his hope quickly turning to disappointment, and yet he smiled. She made her decision.

"Do you mind if I take a seat for a while?" she asked, feigning exhaustion. She was an expert in that, having had several years to feel the real thing firsthand.

The blond man smiled with all of his teeth. "Of course not. Please, sit," he replied.

Anna set the paper bags down on the bench and sat with a satisfied sigh, letting the groceries act as a barrier between her and the blond man. After several long seconds in which her bench companion returned his gaze to looking forlornly forward and fruitlessly searching the noticeably empty park, Anna observed him. Blond, good face, and – were his eyes blue? She swallowed hard, as what she was about to tell him wouldn't be what he wanted to hear.

"I don't think she's coming," she finally said.

He didn't respond. Perhaps he hadn't heard her. But she saw the quick flicker of his eyes and the slight twitch of his head in her direction.

Anna decided to restart. "Have you been waiting long?" she asked.

"We met here on this bench," he said without looking at Anna.

She nodded even though she knew he wouldn't see. "I see. But have you been waiting long? The sun is about to set." Anna was concerned; he seemed naïve.

"I want to thank her."

That admission set a frown into place on Anna's face. He still wouldn't answer her question, not out-right. Perhaps she shouldn't have said anything. It wasn't any of her business. But just as she was about to apologize for being nosy her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from her son. She stood up and pocketed her phone. She decided to stand her ground rather than apologize. "Look, I know that we don't know each other, but I do know what it looks like to be stood up. I've been there." Anna let out a cynical laugh. "Several times. And it's always the same. We set up a date for tomorrow, and just before the end of the night I get a call. It's brief, and I say I'll be home soon. He asks me who that was on the phone. 'My son,' I answer honestly. He seems fine with it, even smiles a bit and asks about him, but then the next day I'm waiting too long for a guy who's never gonna show up."

The man looked at her with sympathy in his eyes, on his face, in his posture.

Anna decided not to look at him and instead busied herself with picking up her bags. She started to walk past him, but stopped a few steps away and said, "I really don't think she's coming, and for that I'm sorry. You seem like a good guy." She began walking again.

"Wait," the man called. He left the roses on the bench as he stood up.

"I have to get home; my son's waiting," Anna said.

"Let me walk you home?" he asked. "It's dangerous around this time of day."

"Thanks, but I'm pretty sure I'm infinitely more dangerous than any purse snatcher I might come across." Anna gave him a sly glance. "Besides, how do I know you're not one of these evening dangers?" she asked with false innocence.

It became clear that he had misunderstood when he started to protest, sounding flustered, "I-I'm not –"

"Relax," Anna said as she turned to face him and give him a reassuring smile, "It was a joke. I'm Anna, by the way." She would have held out her hand for him to shake if it weren't for the groceries.

Still pink in the face and recovering from the perceived accusation, he replied, "Keith."

"Well, it was" – Anna hesitated seeing as "nice" was not the right word but it wasn't like she had a better one in mind – "nice meeting you, Keith. You're still not walking me home, though."

Keith watched her turn and leave, feeling oddly breathless. It wasn't unpleasant and it wasn't entirely unfamiliar. It was somewhat surprising, though. Keith looked sharply at where he'd been sitting for the last few hours.

What was it about this bench?