Wet nights make for lousy second dates. The restaurant was only a 5-minute walk from my apartment, and the rain had taken a break, but I brought my umbrella anyway.

The reservation was for 8:30. I got there at 8:25. Walked through the door, and a fat jovial man greets me with “Bonsoir, monseiur!” As the owner continues on to ask if I have a reservation, I smile and nod, taking in the ambiance, appreciating the decor, the tight New York restaurant feel. I sit down at the tiny, modestly stocked bar and order a gin martini, dry, one olive, Tanqueray. The closest waiter happens to be a mean mixer, either because, despite, or regardless of the animated directions from the owner. I appreciate the time allowed for the glass to chill before the ice is dumped and the cocktail poured.

By 8:50, I get a text message from the girl. Apparently, she’s always late, lol. To be honest, I appreciate it. It’s been a long week at work, and some time alone with a martini in a dark restaurant feels just fine.