Waiting

“Make it two, and quick,” he muttered. And under his breath, he added without conviction, “She’ll be here in a minute.”

Not that the bartender cared, really. His concern was to tend to the drinks, not the emotions.

He shifted again on the stool, watching the droplets form on the glass as the ice melted.

The seconds passed and so did the minutes. People came and people went. Still she did not arrive. Still he waited. And waited.