these city lights

The front of the restaurant was empty but for us. Surrounded by thick, hand-carved wood moldings and atop black and white Egyptian key tile, we sat in the corner of the historic red stone building. We had asked for a booth, but at the last minute, changed our minds. Could we take a table instead? And could we have that one, please? We said, pointing to one all the way up front. It was perfect; cozy. Through the skeleton of an old building across the street, a building that used to divide the City's skyline, we could see magical twinkling lights and a bright star atop a tree illuminated in all-red. Outside, amid the chill, all was abuzz with Holiday comings and goings. Packages tucked under arms eagerly wait to be wrapped in pretty paper and colorful ribbons; like the people in scarves and hats, scrambling across the busy streets beneath us.

We sat for a long while after the table had been cleared, the wick of the candle growing short like the night. Flame flickering in the mirror across from our table for two, we were content with conversation for dessert as the other diners shuffled out. We explored a little on our way out, pausing to note the original copper ceiling and the wrought iron staircase leading somewhere exciting, we were sure. Pausing in front of the big window which moments before had divided us from the chill of the night, we read the historical plaque before dashing down the side street to the car.