She's just a little late.

Overall, I thought that an hours wait would be easy, no sweat. I was wrong. I kept looking at the clock, tapping my fingers against the waterglass that the waiter had refilled a half dozen times, and doing almost anything to keep my mind occupied.

Occasionally my glance would drift over to one of the couples that had come in together, watching the little passion plays that developed. Once or twice I saw the sultry smile of a woman who had just decided to give her date a second chance, another time I saw the thin lipped stare of a woman just waiting for the check to come, so she could leave.

I kept wondering about Doe, where she was, what she was doing. In my mind I imagined her getting dressed, picking out outfits. Rejecting an outfit or two, doing her makeup. The image was nice.

When the little church clock down the street started chiming seven, I wasn't particularly worried. I knew that Doe wasn't the type to stand up a date. However, as the minutes dragged on, I kept glancing at the clock, starting to get nervous. I kept imagining her car breaking down, or her losing the heel of her shoe. That last one had me smiling a bit, as I imagined caressing her feet tenderly, showing how sympathetic I could be.

Finally, the front door of the restaurant opened, and Doe glided in. Only about fifteen minutes late, by the clock.