She was late.
Eli tore his napkin into fretful strips, tossing anxious glances at the diner’s door.
She was late. She should be here by now. She had said so.
He took a sip of his water, his fingers trembling as he held the glass.
Why was she late? Was it his hair? His clothes? Did he smell bad?
He tried to give himself a discreet sniff, but stopped when he realised that a wizened old man was staring at him from the next table.
“Would you like to order?” The waitress tapped her pencil against her skirt, cherry-red lips twisted in a fake smile.
“I – I’m waiting for someone, thanks.”
“Okey-dokey.”
The waitress tottered away, hips waggling. Eli stared intently at the fingerprints on his glass, his cheeks red. The waitress was probably laughing at him in the backroom.
Maybe she wouldn’t come after all.
All he could do was wait.
No comments:
Post a Comment