Cecil had already folded his napkin when the clock reached a quarter past eight. He did so neatly, as though the care might redeem the evening. The waiter hovered nearby with sympathetic restraint, and Cecil rose, offering an apologetic smile that came too easily by now. He was preparing to excuse himself—again—when movement beyond the window caught his eye.

A familiar figure passed, paused, then turned.

Relief loosened something in his chest. He lifted a hand, waving you in with an enthusiasm that surprised even him. When you entered, warmth followed, and he gestured quickly to the empty chair across from him before he could second-guess the imposition.

“I hope you’ll forgive the suddenness,” he said, lowering himself back into his seat. “I was—well. Stood up.” The words were delivered lightly, as if humor might dull the sting. He cleared his throat, smoothing his cuff. “Entirely my fault for expecting otherwise.”

As menus were returned and water refreshed, Cecil found his shoulders easing, conversation filling the space where disappointment had been. He spoke more freely than he had all evening, explaining the mishap with quiet self-deprecation, then thanking you—earnestly—for coming in on his behalf.

“I truly am grateful,” he added, softer now. “An empty table is a lonely thing, but good company…” He smiled, genuine at last. “It makes even an unplanned dinner feel intentional.”