499...

It was exactly eight o'clock, and, as per usual, Colton was on time. Thank you, Adia, for the lovely wrist watch. Thank you, everyone else in the world, for not informing him that it was always stylish to show up five minutes late. Why? Didn't make you look like you had been waiting for that minute with every cell of your being for the entire evening thus far.

498... 497...

So he had been looking forward to eight o'clock since last night. So what? Did that make him a bad person? Did he seem desperate? He genuinely liked Clementine... Did that mean he was desperate?

496...

Oh God. What if he was desperate? Could it be possible? Did he look desperate? Oh God, she was going to think he was desperate. Was it too late to leave? Ditch; call her tonight and say Celeste had the flu? Apologize for the short notice?

495...

No... Then he'd lose the second chance he had barely earned.

494... 493...

Colton didn't let the panic set in. No, he hunkered down in a booth and feigned interest in the pianist that was just finishing up for the night. And he counted backwards from five hundred.

492... 491... 490... Breathe.

Clementine honestly never tried to be late. She just had a bad sense of judgement. She always underestimated the time it would take to find a sensible outfit, arrange her hair, and apply her makeup. Then she could never find her keys, the cat would noisily demand water, and she’d misplace her purse. By the time Clem was locking the door behind her, it was almost always past her estimated departure time.

Tonight Clementine had changed from dress to jeans, to dress to jeans and back to dress again. She was torn between the seamed stockings she loved that screamed ‘antique’ or jeans to appease Colton and the modern fashion he was from. Breathless from the rush, she finally squirmed out of her jeans and slipped the dress over her head in a quick decision of defiance.

She grabbed a red velvet jacket to wear over it, something to help her blend in. The dress was a dark green colour that skimmed her body and stopped above her knee. She was trying to balance her taste out – she normally got stares when she dressed in her old style, and something told her Colton wouldn’t appreciate stares.

Pulling on an overcoat, she wrapped a scarf around her neck and hopped into a pair of red flats. The taxi was all ready outside, and there was only light traffic between her apartment and The Tequila.

She managed to breeze inside at 8:09. Not bad for her.

If Colton knew how much strife she had over wearing a dress or jeans, he'd have blushed and bowed his head and told her she didn't have to worry about him. She could wear a dress if she really wanted. He could deal with the stares. He just couldn't deal with them for long.

He'd also tell her to wear the dress because she shouldn't appease him. He's still telling himself that this isn't anything serious, for fear that assuming it to be more would mean getting his feelings hurt.

Besides. He hadn't spent nearly as much time over his clothing decision. He grabbed his khaki slacks, a blue plaid collared shirt, his trusty sneakers, and his black coat as if it was any other night. Like most other men, he wasn't really all too concerned about the way he dressed.

Colton glanced up at around 430 to the sound of the door opening again. It was obvious he was waiting for someone. With every door opening, he glanced up quickly, then bowed his head again. Now he just smiled weakly as Clementine entered the Tequila.

"Hey, Clem," he said softly, trying not to attract attention to himself. Well, not attract the wrong attention. He did want her attention.