Twenty minutes and I will find out if I am lucky or stupid.

"Thank you." sitting, I put his book on the table.

"I am waiting for someone, he said he comes here all the time, he asked me to tell you to just let me hold our table until he gets here. I'd like water please."

Did that waiter just sniff at me? Pretentious dork.

Then it dawned, the way I had said "someone", and the dress, not what the other ladies are wearin...the waiter thinks I am a hooker! Why did he pick such a snooty place? That bastard. He probably isn't even a regular here.

I wish I could have resisted him when he wrote "Come to dinner with me tonight. I have to meet you" Coffee or a quick drink would have been easier, he was good enough on the screen, of course I could only fall for a briliant writer..his voice better match his words, what if I am not at all attracted to him?

Even better, what if I am, and he is not attracted to me?

The waiter set two glasses of water on the table without looking at him, I thanked him.

Besides, this is premature, I told him I was not finished with his book yet. I could almost hear him laughing when he wrote that I should bring it with me, so he would know me, the girl sitting alone with his book. He had such a way of telling me what to do, his voice had better match his words, all those letters, borderline obssessive, the insanity of falling in virtual love. He had warned me, I should finish his book before I met him. It has a sad ending, if i finished the book I might not want to meet him.

I was so happy when he sent it to me, the thick manuscript, the treacherous characters, it was so sexy when he told me my letters reminded him of Vivian, his main character...his consumate slut. So far the story was riveting and the darker desires of the male counterpart to Viv, well, I had not chickened out, and I wanted to meet him too.

Must be five minutes.

Just sit still, ignore the waiter glaring at the glasses of water on the table, at my open book taking up his station. The waiter wants me to look at the menu, I cannot bear to see how much it will cost to eat here. He said it was on him, I was glad for that, I normally wouldn't spend quite so much for dinner. White table cloths, fancy silver, waiters and back waiters and a battalion of busboys, music like expensive perfume wafting in the air, waiters and busboys all staring at me sitting alone with his book, I know he wanted me to meet him here simply because I don't usually do fancy, and he wanted it to be special. "This place has been there for almost a hundred years, and it will be there in ten years when we go back for our anniversary dinner" he was so sure of himself. When he wrote. He will be here soon enough and that snippy waiter will be lucky to have us, to have his fat tip at the end.

Rolling the dice again, ten more minutes and I will know if I am lucky.

Of course, there is no way I can read now, my stomach stapled with waiting for him. Time is passing, we are about to collide, it cannot stop, why is he taking so long?

Breath, Chloe, breath, longer, better, you love this remember? The anticipation after all is often the best part, he had never said anything offensive, he had never seemed to be the flightly one. He wrote for three months, discussing everything but sex, he was dedicated to answering my mail, and he agreed to go slow.

He was agreeable when I said I never wanted him to send me a picture and I would not send one to him, not until after we meet, I was not going to have myself plastered all over the internet. He respected my wishes. He played along nicely, and we described ourselves in brutal honest subjective detail. I know he will either be attractive or not, he has the sort of mind I like and a picture would have made no difference in the end.

Speakin of the end, where the hell...

I am glad I have his book, better than sittin here lookin around, time is getting closer, if he is not here in a few minutes I will check my phone, see the time, good thing I never wear a watch, I would have looked at it fifty times by now, no I will not wonder if he is late. I will let him watch me as long as he likes before he sits.

That does it, I know he is late...

"Excuse me, this is awkward" the waiter did not look so stuck up. I looked at him and my heart plunged. He was not coming.

"The gentleman called and said he is sorry, he will not be coming, He left his credit card number and said you should order whatever you like and to please forgive him and enjoy your dinner"

I laughed in an appropriatlely awkward manner "Good thing I have something to read." I sighed slowly and relaxed. I was strangley relieved. "Thank you, give me a few minutes and I will order" I picked up the unopened menu.

"Very good" the waiter smiled this time"

Hmmm, maybe he is the waiter...now this was getting fun. I could imagine that he has not stood me up. That he just wants to see how I take it

A tall slim man, wearing the most casual attire tolerated in a place like this walked across the dining room from the bar. I saw him and recognised his movement, he was one of my regulars from the bar, he was the brooding, quiet man who always came to my bar and ate, never spoke, seemed to listen and think all the time. I had wonder what he was thinking when I caught him watching me work. He seemed to like me as a bartender, even though he never spoke. He had the coldest blue eyes, I did not even know his name.

He seemed startled to see me, I could not help but smile, he almost smiled, and to my suprise he came to my table. It was nice to see someone I almost knew. He seemed to be alone, he was always alone when he came to the bar, one of those crazy rich guys who always goes out by himself.

He waved a greeting and looked at the situation, me sitting with a book, my lone menu, the waiter had taken the other one away, cruel punctuation to the fact that I had been stood up.

With raised eyebrow he asked "Can I join you Chloe?"

"Sure, sweetheart, I hate to say it, I never learned your name." I stood and reached for his hand...

His hand was warm. "Christian."

"Nice to meet you by name, Christian. You are good at keeping to yourself."
I smiled at him, maybe he was shy.

"Yes, like it like that."

Now I was smiling. She remembered him, the nice quiet guy, always came in late, by himself, only spoke enough to order, vodka grapefruit, and a soup or a sandwich, and maybe one more drink and he would quietly pay and leave. Twice a week she had seen him, for the last year or so.