The sounds of the street blurred into a dull echo as he stepped out of the restaurant and into the afternoon rush.
Suddenly, he wanted to be far, far away from the place and never come back.
What an ass he'd made of himself. And after 15 years, you would think he could hold it together for a couple of hours. What a complete ass…what a complete embarrassment…what a complete mess he'd made of his dull, miserable life. There was no other word for it – he was a complete fail…
"Sir," a soft voice stopped the runaway train in his mind.
"Sir," the voice repeated. Then, a hand on his sleeve. A pretty, delicate hand with delicate, interlacing veins and long, tapered fingers.
He closed his eyes and stopped. What now? Had the credit card been denied? Was this the unsmiling waitress demanding payment? Or had she forgotten to add the tip in her hasty escape from the bistro?
"Yes?" he asked, pausing and looking dully back at the woman who was touching his arm.
She smiled. He had the vague idea that she was pretty, but what did that matter, anyway?
"Who are you?" he asked gruffly, not even caring what she thought.
"I'm Amelia," she replied warmly.
"What do you want?" he frowned and felt his head begin to pound as the wine wore into an early hangover.
She paused and then looked up into his reddened eyes. Her own were clear and blue.
"I was in the restaurant. A table over, to the left."
He studied her suspiciously. "Yes?"
"She was awful to you. Just awful."
He said nothing. Her eyes were deep and sincere.
"I apologize to you, then," he finally stated. "I made a fool of myself in there. I'm surprised I wasn't asked to leave."
Amelia only laughed softly.
"So, you heard the entire conversation?"
"Enough. Your voice is rather powerful."
He swallowed hard and looked down. She opened her purse and brought out a BlackBerry.
"You're on line, you know," she said.
His forehead creased.
She merely laughed and her dark hair blew in the breeze. Pretty.
"Yes. You're on the Internet. I asked the waiter for your name, searched it, and there you were."
His lips tightened. "Why are you telling me this? Why did you bother to do all of that?"
Blushing slightly, she nevertheless looked up into his eyes. "Why not? You're handsome, and I like your voice. And…she was awful. Just awful."
He shrugged. "I should go." But now he didn't exactly want to.
She nodded. "I just wanted to tell you –one of your poems was on line. I read it. It was beautiful."
His face relaxed a bit and he actually chuckled. She smiled beautifully.
"Well, Miss Amelia, I appreciate your thoughts."
She nodded. "Did you have the pizza? I had the pizza and it was terrible. Like cardboard."
He smiled. "Just like cardboard."
"I know of this Indian restaurant just a couple of blocks over. It's spicy and delicious. Want to go?"
Glancing at his watch, he sighed and thought about it. He really should be getting back to his – his what?
And what the hell…he'd put up that "post-it" note, after all.
"Let's go," he replied and offered her his arm. She took it and they made their way.