the eighth night, what if

It was after another story, another flight of fancy, another imagining.

We are what if sort of people, she said,  it’s what we do.
Yes, he said , and carried on, what if we lived on a house boat. We’d travel slow and quiet through dark countryside.
Oh yes, she said, and sometimes we’d go for days without seeing another soul. It would just be you and me.
Perfect, he said.
We’d cook together and we’d sit on the bow to see who saw the first kingfisher.

He smiled because he knew what was coming next.

It wouldn’t matter who won, she said,  either way something would happen.

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