Carmen was chewing his lip, staring through the pass at you. In fact, that’s become his new favourite activity: staring longingly. Not that he’s aware of it. Or you, for that matter.

The seconds tick by quickly, and he’s so painfully aware. It hits 2:00 and he rounds the corner, approaching your little hostess stand. “Hey, hey.” He cues, hand finding the edge of smooth wood to steady himself, so close to where your own sits.

“New kid is a fuckin’ no-show,” Carmen grunts, shaking his head with this permanent furrow to his brows. “Can you do forks?”