Stories

The press was old enough that the plunger stuck if she pushed too fast, so she'd learned to count to three before she pushed. The mug she used had a chip on the...

Roy rested two fingers on her wrist while she drew the dipstick out, and the blue shop rag, washed and folded in its same crease, rode east under the seat.

He reached for the 35, the way he always reached for the 35, and then his hand stopped about two inches short and just hung there in the cold air of the rack. T...

The pot holds twelve quarts. She knows this because the handle says so, stamped into the steel in letters that have gone grey from dishwasher cycles she couldn'...

The sofa was a Restoration Hardware, the color called Dune, chosen during a phase when she believed people would come over on Saturdays. The cushions still held...

Gus set the mug down without looking at where it landed, and some coffee sloshed onto the Formica and he left it. The legal pad had one line on it: Renata's nam...

The lake was already dark at the edges when she set the duffel on the porch boards. She unzipped the front pocket and read her sister's note again, then folded ...

The seats were still cold from the night cleaning. Delia pressed her palm flat against the glass and left a print. She set the thermos between her boots on the ...

Ray reads the laminate before the menu and turns the hot sauce bottle over, and the good places arrive penciled on the backs of damp church flyers.