The stone wall of the Irish pub gives off cold and miserable vigor as she sits near it. Perhaps it is because she feels the cold come from within her very bones. It was almost as if she who ever has sat in the seat prior has contaminated it with melancholic liveliness. The fact that her table is positioned in front of a blazing fire place offers her no comfort or warmth. Her sunglasses hide her scarlet swollen eyes as she remembers the happenings of this very day. Faith has just come from her fiancé’s funeral. Faith’s memories of him begin to flood her mind as she tries to subdue her pain by remembering what it felt like to be happy, to be safe in the strong arms of her lover and best friend. She can’t remember it now. All she can picture is the over-weight RCMP officer who came to her door one week ago. She remembers his handlebar moustache and the overpowering scent of Old Spice. She keeps hearing the two little words that ruined her life that very second and seeing the look of his face when he muttered, "I’m sorry."
She met her fiancé in the summer of 2004 when she was on a business trip in the Okanagan Valley doing a wine-tasting review for the magazine she worked for. Faith went out one evening to a lounge and while standing at the bar her future fiancé accidentally spilled some of his drink on her. He was with his friends celebrating a bachelor party. He was pushed ever so slightly but just enough for a few drops of his rum and coke to land her white satin three-quarter lenght sleeve. After apologizing profusely, an offer was made to buy her dinner and as she was in town for two more nights, she accepted....
....As Faith returns to the reality and the coldness of the pub she begins to sip her large glass of house red. Just as the wine from her fourth glass hits her upper lip, she is approached by a striking gentleman and her stomach drops and heart misses a beat as her blurred vision plays a trick on her mind as she sees him.
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