Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down David’s back. He’d arrived at the Italian restaurant first, eager for his anniversary dinner with "Sarah". The reservations were under his name, the flowers were on the table, but Sarah hadn't arrived, an hour after the time set. He kept checking his watch, the numbers blurring. Each text reply from Sarah, full of vague excuses, felt like another punch to his gut. He pushed the untouched breadsticks around his plate, his appetite gone. The waiter gave him a sympathetic look. He hadn't noticed the same look when the other diner was asking questions at the bar.