Frank had seen it all before.
There were all of the telltale signs. She was dressed up, far too dressed up for the
fucking Deli, he thought, but then again he was constantly questioning the decisions of the patrons, every not-so-often she checked the door, presumably looking for a familiar face, and finally, the nail in the coffin, she had waited to order.
He studied her for all of half an hour before he begrudgingly decided that it was his duty to do something about it. If the shitbrains hadn’t turned up yet, things weren’t looking promising and Frank found himself habitually unable to not intervene in such situations. Even when he was just dropping in to check in on the place.
“
Congratulations,†He announced, deadpanned, despite his best efforts at being enthusiastic. “You’re the, uh…†Frank stumbled over his words as he set the tray onto the table, followed with two cans of beer. “Our thousandth customer,†He almost shrugged before he slid into the booth opposite her.
“On the house,†He nodded to the sandwich, stole a chip from the bag, and then cracked open his own beer. “Your prize is my company,†Frank added as if that wasn’t clear already. He studied the stranger for a moment too long before he realized he was lingering, swiftly he took a drink.
“Fuck that guy,†Francis thought almost to himself. “—or girl, whatever you’re into,†He wavered a hand in the air in front of him out of habit, shaking his head. If someone like her was being stood up what chance did he have out there?
@Eden Finley 
