Andrew Puck

Andrew watched the hostess as she welcomed diners, handled the phone, and sent waiters to the correct tables. He admired her dark hair, and the way she stood, with her hips askew, but he knew she would think him a creep if he asked her on a date. A gas fire whispered in the center of the room, not too far on his left, because he felt the heat radiating on his skin.

He sat alone, waiting for a blind date to arrive, wondering if there was some way he could convince the hostess to give him a few moments. He was impressed as she moved with an easy economy that could only be described as grace. His sister had arranged the blind date: picking the restaurant, the time, the woman. She insisted he get right back out there, where he could find a new life partner, just a few weeks after his wife of seven years had sent him to live in a furnished studio apartment.