Restlessness had been his constant companion throughout the day, though just during his waking hours, of course.  Anton was unable to pinpoint the last time he felt like this, though he suspected it had to have been during his courtship of Evangeline.  Could this be considered a date with Stella?  He guessed it could be, since they would be on neutral ground while at the restaurant and the theatre.  Tonight, neither would hold a home-apartment advantage, to paraphrase a sports term.  Even better, there was no food prep or clean-up to worry about, though working as a team following their pair of home dinners, clean-up was a snap.<br/><br/>How did that saying go?<i>A watched pot never boils, </i>or summat?  Or was it,<i>A watched toaster never toasts</i>?  While he thought the former sounded legit, Anton favored the latter, mainly on account of who didn’t like toast?  Plus, it sounded funnier.  Butter, after all, was just the beginning, as there was so much more to do with the transformed slices of bread.<br/><br/>Why was he thinking all of this nonsense?  Oh, right, because he kept looking at the wall clock or his wrist watch.  Time seemed to purposely drag when said timepieces were constantly gazed upon.  Anton removed his watch and placed it next to his car keys near the front door.<br/><br/>His attention now focused on the pair of dead-to-the-world felines on the beloved bench by the window.  Did they ever sleep anywhere else? Anton wondered, mildly annoyed.  It was a toss-up when Licorice was alone with him.  She might be on the cushioned bench, or she might be beside him.  Whenever Tesla was visiting, as he was now, they always claimed the coveted bench for their own.<br/><br/>Anton moved to inspect her bowls of food and water, having filled both prior to the Maine Coon’s arrival.  He remembered how one bowl of each would suffice, since the cat the size of a football pitch bestowed more attention on the ink-black Persian than his own stomach.  Hell, he thought, kitty love ain’t all that different from human love.  Aside from four extra legs and a whole lotta fur, that is.<br/><br/>Time to get ready, as he wished to be out the door and on his way no later than 4:40.  Parking was a non-issue, since the restaurant offered valet parking.  He stripped while the shower’s water heated up.  Prior to stepping inside of the glass door, Anton gathered his razor and shaving gel.  He always took advantage of any opportunity to multi-task.<br/><br/>While waiting for his body to re-acclimate from hot shower to room temp, Anton splashed on some Calvin Klein<i>Eternity </i>after shave, enjoying the tingling sensation.  Gun metal boxer-briefs and black socks were donned next.  He then pulled his favorite black, Givechy, single-breasted, trim-fit wool suit out of the closet.  But first, a white, Kenzo slim-fit cotton shirt was meticulously buttoned up, followed by a pair of silver cuff links bearing his initials,<i>AVK, </i>a birthday gift from Evangeline.  A red, silk tie topped it off.  His favorite suit always called for his preferred Santoni dress shoes.  Black, of course.<br/><br/>Dressed to kill (or at the very least, to wound), Anton inhaled deeply while surveying his reflection.  Good to go, he thought.  A hearty meal and a classic play all spent in Stella’s company awaited.  Car keys in hand, he paused at the door to survey the pair of comatose kitties.  From this angle, it appeared that just a single, massive cat was snoozing on the bench.  He grinned, knowing that his Licorice was somewhere in that tangle of fur.  Switching off the nearby lamp, he quietly shut the door.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">&gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt;&lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt;​</div><br/>Pulling out of the apartment building’s garage, the car’s clock read 4:37.  Eighteen minutes later, he eased the vehicle against the curb near the valet’s station.  As Anton exited the Audi, one of the young valets approached him with a smile.  “Mr. Kostaki,” he said, “it’s good to see you again, sir.”  As he mockingly glared at the young man’s greeting, he corrected himself on the fly.  “Er, I mean, Anton.  It’s good to see you again, sir.”  Laughing, Anton replied, “Much better, Ben.”<br/><br/>Anton watched until his car disappeared from view.  While doing so, he felt his phone vibrate in his jacket’s inner breast pocket.  It was a text from Stella, letting him know she was already in the restaurant.  Automatically typing a reply, he comically returned the phone to its previous spot, since the front door was right there!<br/><br/>Circling through the revolving door, a quick scan of his surroundings, and he saw her.  Though really, it was quite difficult<i>not </i>to notice the only redhead in the room.  And a stunning redhead at that.  It was as if she was a raging fireplace on two legs.  Anton thought it was a perfect trifecta of Stella’s red hair, fair skin, and that little black dress.  She wore her hair up in a, um, bun of sorts.  Though he knew the word he was looking for was far fancier than<i>bun, </i>he always forgot it.  Never mind that Evangeline used to wear it like that quite often, and reminded him every time of the proper term.  Eye contact soon established, he walked toward her with a silly grin on his face.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">&gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt; &gt;&lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt; &lt;​</div><br/>The setting sun’s rays peeked through one of his bedroom windows, the slivers of light glinting off a piece of jewelry on his dresser-drawer.  Anton had left his wedding band behind, propped up against a favored, framed picture of Evangeline.  The sparkle seemed to light up the entire room, though in reality, just the photograph was illuminated.  In it, a radiant Evangeline smiled back at the camera.