Dennis caught up to me in the coffee line at the usual time. I'd stopped worrying about my presentation at this point, though I still ran through it in my head on the off chance that I'd get it right.

"Working hard or hardly working, my friend?" he asked, putting his arm over my shoulder. "You gotta take it easy. I don't know how you keep that smile on your face working the hours you do."

"I don't know what's got you grinning like a loon today," I said back.

"I have plans tonight with this cute chick whose number I got on the train the other day."

"Do I know her?" I asked worriedly.

"Nah, she's a senior at the university. She's a philosophy major. I think I'll have to pay."

"I bet she'll make good conversation."

"All philosophy does is talk about death. It's why I like Troy Bentley's podcast, you know, the one I was mentioning earlier. He cuts right through the—"

"I see Dennis the Menace is back!" Jordan called out, cutting his way in front of Dennis. I remembered that comparison Abby had made to Hannibal Lecter, though I couldn't see why he would be off-putting. I'd think a jack-of-all-trades like him who had all these other hobbies that kept his mind away from work would be successful and popular. I sometimes wished I were more like him.

"There's a line, my friend. Move it."

"What's the big deal? They aren't gonna run out of coffee. Don't listen to Troy Bentley, Mike. He's a grifter. I read on Reddit that he's been selling these bogus penile enlargement—"

"Male enhancement pills, Jordan, and they're necessary these days. There's estrogen in soy, and they put soy in everything these days. Read any ingredient label and you'll see 'hemolyzed soy protein' and all those carcinogens."

"We weren't actually talking about Troy Bentley. Dennis was telling me that he has a date tonight," I said. Jordan's eyes brightened.

"And let me guess: you got a doe-eyed college student's number somewhere, and you've worn your most expensive clothes to impress her."

"Right on, my compadre! I'm even wearing that watch I bought the other day," Dennis said, and he showed us his wrist. He often wore a watch, so I didn't think it was for a special occasion.

"If as soon as you see her, her eyes spin around in their sockets and go ding-ding-ding like a slot machine, you'll know it's love. I'll take a large latte and a khachapuri, please." He lingered a moment, waiting to see if either Dennis or the barista would react.

"Coffee. Black," Dennis grunted.

"So where are you taking her? Somewhere romantic?" I asked.

"Nostromo—you know, the swanky Italian place by city hall. I'm thinking that if it goes well and I order spaghetti, we can do the Lady and the Tramp thing."

"With you playing the role of the tramp, of course," Jordan interjected.

"I've always wanted to try that place," I said. "Is it busy on a Friday night?"

"Shouldn't be that busy. They had a lot of tables open around seven when I booked my reservation. I wanted to make sure we got a quiet corner of the restaurant with some candles, if you know what I mean." Dennis licked his lips. "Anyway, gotta go. Smell ya later."

Dennis marched off, leaving Jordan and me to fend for ourselves.

"Imagine if we crashed his date. I'd be kinda tempted if I didn't have my meeting," Jordan said.

"He'd expect it today. I should probably get back to work. Have a big presentation."

"You'll crush it."

The next day, I didn't ask Dennis what had him smiling when he ran into me in the coffee line, I just let it play out. Dennis the Menace, estrogen, coffee, and a few hours later, Abby and Jordan let themselves into my office.

"Abby and I wanted to come by and congratulate you on your presentation. How did it go?" Jordan asked from the doorframe.

"Good news, I wasn't fired. Bad news, it didn't go well."

"Where's that bottle of whiskey from?" Abby asked.

"Consolation prize. He extolled the virtues of Tennessee whiskey and asked when Hong Kong would ever have its own cultural exports."

"Five thousand years of Chinese civilization would disagree with that," Jordan observed. Abby gave him a funny look.

"Do either of you have plans tonight?" I asked.

"I'm headed to Truman's to drink and watch people get into bar fights," Abby said.

"I have my volunteer meeting tonight," Jordan said.

"Sounds fun!"

"You should go out and treat yourself," Abby said. "TGIF."

"I have a reservation at Nostromo's tonight, actually."

"Dang, that place is nice. Are you taking anyone?" she asked insinuatingly.

"Should I? I was going to people-watch."

"I've always thought of it as a date night place."

"I've been craving Italian food."

"Wish I could join you. I'm gonna head back and get some work done. Don't stay too late, Mike, and miss your dinner reservation," Jordan said.

When Jordan closed the door, Abby turned to me like she'd seen a ghost.

"Does Jordan give Hannibal Lecter vibes to you, or is it just me?"

"I don't see it. I think he's quite charming, actually. Speaks multiple languages, plays the piano, sharp wit."

"Maybe you should've invited him on your solo date night!" Abby laughed. "I don't know, but if there's ever word there's a murderer in our midst, I'll suspect him first."

"You should get to know him better. Heather always says such nice things about him."

"I'd rather a piano fall on my head. See you Monday, Mike," she said, and she left too.

It wasn't hard securing a reservation that night at Nostromo, and I was grateful once again that there were so many good restaurants in our town. I found myself walking up to the door at the same time I saw Dennis and his date. She'd dressed up: her cheeks were colored with rouge, and she wore a tasteful pearl necklace. I could immediately tell from how she clung by his side that she was taken with him. Or his watch.

"Hey, Mike, what are you doing here?" Dennis asked, woundedly.

"I have a reservation here at seven. I was craving Italian food and thought I could use a bit of a treat after that presentation I was telling you about, so here I am."

"Mike is a friend from work," Dennis said, and I reached my hand out for a handshake.

"Michelle," she said wispily.

"That's just like my name!" I laughed.

"I was just telling Michelle about how there aren't any good role models in today's society. After Lincoln, everything crumbled."

"How about Troy Bentley?"

"I mean until he came along, there was nobody."

We went inside and took our seats at our own tables, and from my lonely seat I could watch Dennis and Michelle having their romantic date. It seemed like Dennis was doing more of the talking than Michelle, but Dennis was a talkative person, so it made sense. I looked over the menu, and everything looked good, so it was really hard to decide what to order until I realized that I could come back here again.

"I'll have the tagliatelle," I said to the waiter, affecting my best Italian accent. You knew an Italian restaurant was fancy when they had tagliatelle instead of spaghetti.

"Anything else tonight?"

"That's it."

"What brings you here tonight?" he asked.

"It's been a long day at work."

"Must be one of those days if you're eating here alone," he observed.

The tagliatelle was delicious, though a bit heavy on the truffle, and I left before Dennis and Michelle finished their date. The night was just beginning for most of the city, but after a heavy meal like that I didn't have it in me to stay up. I took the train back and went to bed.

"Do either of you have plans tonight?" I asked Abby and Jordan.

"I'm headed to Truman's to drink and play Dance Dance Revolution," Abby said.

"I have my volunteer meeting tonight," Jordan said.

"As usual."

"You should go out and treat yourself," Abby said. "TGIF."

"I have a reservation at Nostromo's tonight, actually."

"Dang, that place is nice. Are you taking anyone?" she asked insinuatingly.

"Should I? I was going to people-watch."

"I've always thought of it as a date night place."

"I've been craving Italian food. I heard they have really good truffle tagliatelle. Like fancy spaghetti."

"They're actually egg-based, unlike spaghetti," Jordan said.

"I didn't know that!"

"I'm gonna head back and get some work done. Don't stay too late, Mike, and miss your dinner reservation," Jordan said.

When Jordan closed the door, Abby turned to me, her face tinged with exasperation.

"Does Jordan give Hannibal Lecter vibes to you, or is it just me?"

"I don't see it. I think he's quite charming, actually. Speaks multiple languages, plays the piano, sharp wit."

"Maybe he's just bougie, and that's why he gives me the creeps. He seems like the sort of guy who'd invest in crypto."

"No, that's Dennis," I laughed. "Dennis is the off-putting one, Jordan's just Californian. Oh, speaking of Dennis, I heard he has a date tonight."

"No kidding, I want to see this."

"That's what I'm doing tonight. Tonight at seven, at Nostromo. I overheard him talking about it earlier and booked a reservation at the same time."

"So when you said people-watching, you meant..."

"Yep."

"That's a power move! I didn't know you had it in you."

"Want to come with?" I asked.

"He's going to get the wrong idea, you know him. But it is Nostromo..."

Abby and I, both wearing a hard day's work on our faces, walked up to Nostromo at the same time as Dennis and Michelle. I wasn't supposed to know her name yet, but by then we'd become acquaintances. Dennis scrutinized us, searching for clues he'd missed on the train.

"Mike Burbank and Abby Ji? What a small world, running into you two! What are you doing here?" Dennis asked, more flustered than wounded.

"I was craving Italian food, and Abby said she always wanted to try this place, so we thought we'd try it. TGIF, right? It's a cause to celebrate," I said.

"Who's your new friend?" Abby asked.

"That's Michelle," Dennis said. Michelle looked at all of us fearfully.

"I love the necklace!" Abby said to her.

"I love your outfit too," Michelle said back. "Is that lipstick from Saks? I saw it on my Instagram the other day."

"No, I'm flattered. It was a gift from a guy I used to know."

"That's adorable."

"Used to know," Abby said sharply, and we entered the restaurant and were led to our own tables. I sat facing away from Dennis and Michelle to let Abby have the best view of the action, since I'd seen them the previous night.

"Dennis is talking her ear off. I feel so bad for her," Abby observed.

"She seems kinda shy."

"What are the odds Dennis is mansplaining to her something he learned from Troy Bentley?"

"Quite high, I bet," I laughed.

It was a bit loud, like most good restaurants on Friday nights.

"I'll have the tagliatelle. Heard it's good here," Abby said to the waiter.

"I'll have what she's having! Just kidding, I'll have the sea bass."

"Will you be sharing the bill tonight?" the waiter asked.

"You've had a rough day, Mike. I'll take the bill."

The waiter dutifully nodded and left us to our own devices. Last time I was here, I'd spent more time watching Dennis and Michelle than looking around the restaurant, so I thought I'd ignore the candle on our table and Abby's long story about something Dennis had done the other day to rattle her. It was a nice place, very nautical in its design. Not nautical, I supposed, but blue-and-white to look Mediterranean, with jars of olives and bowls of lemons on the shelves. A note on the menu said that the executive chef had interned with Massimo Bottura, who sounded famous and credible.

When we'd finished our entrées, I craned my head to see what the lovebirds were up to. Dennis was having some sort of steak, and Michelle was picking at the sea bass and laughing at something, but I couldn't hear Dennis over the din of the restaurant.

"Do we have room for dessert?" I asked Abby after the waiter handed us dainty dessert menus.

"I could go halfsies on a tiramisu. I know I said I was going to go to Truman's tonight, but maybe I'll settle for an espresso and some Netflix back at home."

"How hard do you think tiramisu is to make at home?"

"I've never tried it," she said with a shrug.

One tiramisu and two espressos later, I was starting to think we were enjoying ourselves more than Dennis and Michelle, but all good things had to come to an end. Caffeine in the evening made me jittery. Abby settled the bill and we left, leaving them behind.

"I'm sorry again to hear that your presentation didn't go well. It sucks putting a lot of effort into something and having it not work out," Abby said.

"Sometimes I think things like that are meant to be."

"It hurts me to hear you say that. Aren't you always the glass-half-full person in our group?"

"I guess."

"It's inspiring, honestly, seeing how you put up with it all."

"The trick is to treat yourself to dinner once in a while," I explained. "I take care of myself, and buy myself the things I want because I want them, not to show them off to others."

"I'd be down to get dinner again sometime. Heather's always been inviting me, but I keep making excuses. I think I feel bad when she takes us to expensive places and treats us all. I'm not impressed when people flash their money or style."

We were quiet on the train back, and I could already feel the meal weighing on me, not to mention that I still had the whiskey bottle in my bag. A little nightcap when I got back couldn't hurt, but it felt like something Abby would do—that either meant I could invite her, or I could acknowledge that drinking alone was a self-destructive habit. I read it was a warning sign of alcoholism in one of those articles my dad had sent me.

I put the whiskey bottle on my dresser before I went to bed, even though I knew it wouldn't be there when I woke up the next day. It was a nice decorative piece that felt like it tied the room together, in that sense where successful people always had vases and things.