Written after a night out a long time ago.
He packed the box of cigarettes against his right hand, deliberately, purposefully, as he had seen her do so many times. The cellophane was difficult to get off, and he frowned as it stuck to his hand from static. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with his blue bic lighter.
He took a deep drag on the cigarette and coughed. He quit smoking a bit over a year ago.
"But she smokes", he thought to himself. He flicked some ashes off in the ashtray by the telephone and thought back to their last conversation.
They had had a wonderful evening. The best he'd had in years. They were marvelous together, joking and laughing, talking about serious matters, it was all the same; they were like made for each other. It was their first proper date. The time before that they had gone out separately but ended up going home together. They had sat in his car kissing, and it had been wonderful. But when they said goodnight this time they didn't kiss. They had a talk.
"You're a nice guy", she had said. "A really nice guy. You have so many good qualities. But...". The silence had trailed off. Then she had said good night and stepped out of the car.
"She thinks I'm nice", he thought. "Sure, she has some hangups, but she'll come around." He glanced at the telephone again. "She thinks I'm nice, and we get along great. Love conquers all, and good things come to them that wait. All I need is patience."
He put the cigarette out. "She'll come around", he said aloud.
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