On this particular day, however, something unexpected and wonderful happened. She'd made her reservation (for four) at this new restaurant, Indian. She'd arrived and ordered her appetizers and drink as usual. She'd dropped those careful, flustered comments about her party being late. About ten minutes into the charade, when she'd finished two of the crispy, perfectly spiced samosas, as the waiter was re-filling her glass of wine, a gentleman came to the table. When she'd bustled in out of the fall chill she'd noticed him in the waiting area."Hello," he said, a little breathlessly."I'm so sorry to be late." "Er," said Bella. "Hi?" The fellow looked at the waiter and said, "Bad news, I'm afraid. The others won't be able to join us." Then, to Bella, "They're still prepping for court tomorrow. Can't risk flubbing up this one." "Very well, sir," said the waiter, removing two place settings. "May I bring you a drink?" The gentleman sat and opened his menu. Bella's heart drubbed wildly, "I. Er." "A glass of Torrontes, if I may," the gentleman said to the waiter. The waiter bowed slightly and stepped away, fading into the quiet chatter of other guests, softly lilting Indian music, silverware pinging against plates. The gentleman forked the corner off a samosa. "So," he said, just before putting it in his mouth, "how was your day?"