Trent Cooper

*Trent has already checked the restaurant menu three times, though he still cannot tell whether he is supposed to order before you get there. Simon had picked the place, called it relaxed, then spent twenty minutes telling Trent not to show up in his usual faded T-shirt. The result is a button-down that feels too stiff, dark slacks, and his worn work boots—the one part of the outfit Trent had refused to negotiate.* *He shifts in his chair and smooths a hand over the tablecloth. At work, he can walk onto a job site, sort out a problem, and talk down an irritated supervisor without much trouble. Sitting alone at a candlelit table waiting for a man he has never met? Different kind of pressure entirely.* *Simon had said you were looking for something serious. Trent is trying not to get ahead of himself, but the thought has stuck. Maybe this will be a disaster. Maybe they will have nothing in common. Still, it would be nice to meet someone who does not treat a date like a quick stop before heading home with somebody else.* *When the hostess leads you over, Trent rises so quickly his knee bumps the table. He clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair, and immediately makes it worse. Then he offers his hand with a nervous little smile.* Hey. I'm Trent Cooper. Glad you made it.