"Are you ready to order, ma'am?"

"Just another five minutes, please?"

The waitress smiled tightly. "Sure."

Happy took another sip of her scotch - her third of the night - and checked her watch. Joe was now an hour late, and she was just about ready to kill him.

She tried calling him for the fourth time. His phone went straight to voicemail again. She would've screamed at his machine, but people were already throwing her pityingly glances; she didn't want to cause an even-bigger scene than her being stood up already had.

She was a minute away from throwing a twenty on the table for the scotch and leaving when someone slid into the seat across from her.

"Hey, sorry I'm late, babe," he said loudly. "Traffic was killer. You know how LA is when it rains."

Happy looked around; the pitying glances had turned into relieved smiles, but no explanation was offered for the stranger's advances.

"Um, who are you?" she whispered.

"Just go with it."

"What-"

Happy was cut off by the waitress's coming back over.

"Hi there!" she said brightly. "Are we ready to order?"

"I think we are," the man said. "I'll have the salmon, and she'll have the steak please. And could I have a glass of Chardonnay when you have sec?"

"Sure thing."

Once the waitress left, Happy glared at the man in front of her.

"Okay, what do you think-"

"Sorry to order for you. I figure it'd help with the whole 'boyfriend' persona, you know? You did want the steak, right? You seem like a steak kind of person to me."

Happy actually had been planning on ordering the stake, if Joe had ever shown up, but she wasn't going to tell this man that.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, ignoring his question.

"I was waiting for a table, but I saw you sitting here, and I just thought you're way too pretty for me to let someone stand you up."

Despite herself, Happy blushed. "Well, how did you know-"

"You're sitting alone at a table for set for two and you've had three drinks but no food. It wasn't hard to figure out what was going on."

"Look, I don't need any pity-"

"It's not pity. You're a pretty girl dressed up for a date; I'm a single guy. I can't think of any way I'd rather spend my evening than with you."

"You can compliment me all you want; it's not making me want to eat with you."

The man grinned. "Okay, how about this? If I can guess what kind of car you drive, you stay and eat with me. If I can't, you can fake break up with me right here, right now. Screaming, crying - I'll even let you throw a drink in my face if you want. We can do a whole bit."

"I'm pretty close to throwing a drink in your face right now, anyway, dude."

He laughed. "Fair. But do we have a deal?"

"No. You could've seen me get out of my car when I came in."

"Don't flatter yourself. I may be alone on a Saturday night, but I actually do have better things to do than sit around restaurant parking lots and watch people get out of their cars."

"Fine. You guess my car, I'll eat with you."

He smiled. "Alright. So I'm thinking it's gotta be a big car - you look like the kind of person who needs to move stuff around. An SUV? A truck? A truck."

Happy narrowed her eyes, unsure of how he was doing this.

"A pickup truck," he continued. "I'm guessing it's not super expensive; I bet you only blow cash on nice motorcycles, right?"

"Mm," Happy hummed noncommittally.

"So a rather-inexpensive truck. But a good truck - you definitely read consumer reports before buying cars. Let's see... Ford has some good truck. Or Chevy? Chevy. A Chevy, isn't it?"

Happy frowned, which he seemed to take as a "yes".

"Is that enough for you?" He asked. "I could probably get model and color, too, if you want."

"How did you do that?"

"I''m a psychiatrist; reading people is what I do. Oh, look at me - I didn't even introduce myself. Dr. Tobias M. Curtis."

"Happy Quinn."

"Happy! What a nice name. I'd shake your hand, Happy, but I think that would alert people to the fact that I'm not actually your boyfriend."

"I guess it would."

"So, tell me about yourself, Happy. What do you do?"

She shrugged. "Different things. I'm a mechanical engineer. I do some inventing."

"Oh, pretty and smart? How did I get so lucky?"

"Stop that. We're not really on a date."

"Oh, aren't we? We're eating together at a nice restaurant, talking about what we do, learning things about each other. Sounds like a date to me."

"Whatever."

"Don't tell me you're still thinking about Mr. Stood-You-Up."

"His name's Joe, thank you very much."

"Joe Schmoe. Toby's the one who's here right now."

"Toby's the one who's annoying me right now, yep."

"Oh, come on. Tell me you're not having a little bit of fun."

Happy wrinkled her nose at him but, if she were being honest, she was enjoying herself - probably more than she would be if Joe were here, droning on about baseball again.

"So," Toby asked, "tell me about one of your inventions."

"Really? You want to hear about my stuff?"

"Of course. Who wouldn't? Wait, let me guess - Joe wouldn't."

"I swear, if you keep talking like that, I'm leaving."

"Okay, okay, I won't mention Joe Schmoe again."

"Toby."

He held up his hands apologetically, palms facing her. "Sorry. That was the last time. Seriously, tell me about what you make."

Happy hesitated - she wasn't used to be people being interested in her inventions, and she immediately suspicious of this strange man in front of her wanting to know about her life. But there was nothing but innocence on Toby's face, so she started talking.

"Well, I'm working on this mechanical arm…"

They kept talking for hours. Toby was so engaged - he asked questions about her projects, real questions, not just the "And what exactly is the point of that?" questions Joe would ask her. And eventually they started talking about his work, and he had Happy belly-ache-style laughing with stories about the insanely rich and vain celebrities who came to his practice. They talked through dinner and dessert, straight until the restaurant was closing and their waitress was politely trying to shoo them out.

Toby grabbed for the check when it came.

"No, please, let me," Happy said.

"Not a chance. You let me ambush you for a surprise date-

"Not a date," she insisted.

"Okay, you let me ambush for a surprise not-a-date. The least I can do it pay."

"Well, thanks."

They got up to leave. When they got outside, Toby turned to her.

"I'm parked a few rows back."

"I'm right here." Happy pointed to her truck in front of them.

"Ah, the good old Chevy truck."

They were silent for a moment before he continued.

"Look, I know you have Joe Schmoe somewhere out there, but I was just wondering... Would you like to get dinner again sometime?"

"Really?"

"Of course. I've never met a woman quite like you, Happy Quinn. I want to see you again."

Happy rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say."

"So, what do you say? Can I call you sometime?"

Happy thought of Joe, of how angry he'd be if he knew about what had happened tonight, but she realized she didn't care.

"Sure."

Toby smiled. "I'd kiss you, but I'm worried you'd punch me."

"I probably would."

"Then I'll have to be fast."

"What-"

Toby leaned forward, cutting her off, pressed a quick peck to her lips, and then ran across the parking lot towards his car.

"Toby," she called after him, exasperated.

"I'll call you, Happy!" he yelled and then jumped into his car.

Happy watched him pull away from the restaurant and his headlights disappear down the road before getting into her truck. She checked her phone; a single text from Joe waited for her: Sorry babe. Got held up at the office. Make it up to you tomorrow?

She ignored the text, instead starting her truck and driving off into the night.