Eliza slammed the door to her apartment, the echo a satisfying punctuation mark to her already foul mood. The train had been delayed, the dry cleaners had ruined her favorite blouse, and now this. A text from "Mark" read: "Running late. Traffic. Be there soon! xoxo". She almost threw her phone across the room. She was expecting her date, "Mark," at her apartment, but not for a little while yet.
She’d been looking forward to this evening – a rare opportunity to unwind. Now, the thought of small talk and forced smiles filled her with a profound sense of weariness. She needed a drink, a stiff one. She poured herself a generous glass of wine and took a long, slow sip, her shoulders slumped. The doorbell rang. She stalked towards the door, ready to unleash her displeasure.
Standing there was a man she'd never seen before, fiddling with a bouquet of lilies. "Hi," he said, a slightly nervous smile playing on his lips. "I'm... I'm looking for Eliza?" She scowled.
"I'm Eliza."
"Oh, great! I'm Mark. Ready for that Italian dinner?"
She let out a harsh laugh. "Mark? I'm already expecting someone..."
Another man appeared in the hallway, also clutching flowers. He was equally taken aback. “You must be mistaken,” he said, addressing the first man. “I'm Mark.”