By 6:40:pm, Shantel walked into the restaurant for her date. It was tastefully elegant but in an understated way. It was the kind of place where every soft clink of cutlery felt like a whisper of wealth.
After speaking to the gentleman at the door, he directed her to another man who introduced himself as the manager and ushered her to a private table tucked into a corner with a view of a serene garden courtyard.
She checked the time again. It was exactly seven minutes earlier than the agreed hour.
She crossed one leg over the other and shifted in her seat, staring down at the untouched glass of sparkling water in front of her. Her fingers tapped against the menu she'd opened twice already without reading a word of it.
"This isn't a date," she reminded herself aloud under her breath. "It's not even a meeting worth fussing over. I came to be polite, say 'thank you, but no thank you,' and leave."
