He watched quietly as the door closed behind her. Through the Plexiglas window he could see her retreating figure rounding the corner until she was finally out of sight. With a sigh he slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Nerves had kept him warm all evening, but as he trudged up the hill to his apartment the cold began to seep into the folds of his shirt. It was his best shirt, collared and button-up, a warm cinnamon color that he had been told accented his brown eyes. He’d even taken the time to iron it, foregoing the luxury of the bottle of spray wrinkle-releaser.

Nearing his own apartment, he replayed the last two hours in his mind. Of course he knew it was awkward; he’d have to be blind, deaf, and stupid not to realize that. But weren’t all first dates supposed to be a little awkward?

She had said he wasn’t even trying to make conversation. But he did try. He’d just never been very good at that kind of thing. Could it have been the coupon book? No, of course not—women love a thrifty man.