By the time the lamps come on, the lake has almost lost its colour. A little blue remains near the far shore, while the water closest to the house reflects the grey evening sky. There is a chair beside the window, a blanket folded over its arm and the faint sound of wood settling in the fireplace. Your coat is still damp from the walk back. You hang it near the door, take off your shoes and feel grateful that you have nowhere else to go tonight.
Some evenings ask very little of you, and that is what makes them memorable. There is no reservation to reach, no outfit to change into and no reason to keep checking the time. Dinner can be simple. Your hair can stay exactly as it is. Beyond the glass, the lake continues its small movements while the room gradually fills with warmth.
The fire takes a little while to establish itself. At first, you hear more than you see: a crackle, a shift of kindling, the occasional sharp pop. Then the flames become steadier, catching the edges of the logs and lighting the inside of the hearth. You pull your chair a comfortable distance away and watch for a moment. The warmth reaches your face before the rest of you catches up.
