The Hollywood Grill wasn’t haute cuisine, but it was cheap, it was filling, and best of all, it was always open when Joe got off work. The kitschy decor featured the typical movie memorabilia, bright and comforting in its familiarity, but sitting in the booth by the window, Joe felt anything but. The paper from his straw sat in a shredded pile next to his second Diet Coke, the broken lines of the tic-tac-toe game he’d played against himself dried in the ring of condensation.
Casual as it was, it was his first date in ten months. The first one he’d instigated in two years. Fess might believe he was overthinking, but Fess probably got hit on all the time. He had no idea what rejection felt like.
Joe glanced at his phone. Five twenty-eight. Fess wasn’t going to show.
The door swung open. R
