Twenty minutes really was pushing it, and Lalna knew it. He probably should have just left after ten or fifteen, but she had been at work, and the job of a chef must have been pretty taxing. She probably just got held up. That was absolutely it. No other possible reasoning.
After another five minutes or so had passed, he began to come to terms with the fact that she probably wouldn’t be showing up. The two herbal teas he’d had while he waited (he really didn’t need coffee to get all jittery before she even arrived. He was already jittery enough. What was he, a fifteen year old who was hoping to cop his first feel?) were going right through him, and he got up to take a bathroom break, leaving the flower sitting rather forlornly on the table. When he got back, he supposed he would pay his bill and be on his way.
He didn’t bother holding back the huge smile that came to his face when he emerged and saw her sitting at the table, the flower behind one ear. It suited her, and now that he was seeing her in person, he quickly realized that he was in more danger of breaking his promise than he had even thought. She was even more beautiful than the little icons on the network implied, and her sense of humour was brilliant, and she was brilliant, and he had to stop this train of thought before he reached the table and promptly asked her to marry him.
Instead, he made his way over, his best attempt at a cool smirk on his face, and sat down opposite her. “Fashionably late, eh? I see you like the flower. Told you it would be better than a boring old rose.”