The clanking of cutlery against plates amid the murmuring from the distant tables, the waiters taking people's orders, all streamed into Becca's ears as she sat alone at that restaurant, fingers planted on her lap to keep from fiddling with them as she waited.
It had been thirty minutes yet the person she was expecting still hadn't shown up. Granted, Becca did arrive there twenty minutes early— her anxiety wouldn't grant her peace if she came a minute late, her unrest peevish.
Becca surveyed the place for the hundredth time in ten minutes, praying to catch sight of red curls and gleaming blue eyes but once again, all she got were unfamiliar faces.
Her shoulders slumped and her gaze fell to her hands on her lap that was under the table.
