Marc checks his reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time. Nothing has changed; he's still wearing soft well-worn jeans and a short-sleeved button-down with brown boots. He doesn't have anything stuck in his teeth and his hair is still neatly combed.
It doesn't do a damn thing to calm the butterflies currently having a cotillion in his stomach. You're an idiot, he tells his reflection firmly. Rowan isn't one to be impressed by fancy clothes or forty-dollar manicures. Relax. She's probably as nervous as you are.
It doesn't help.
He sits down, tries to force himself to watch TV. It seems to work, until he realizes fifteen minutes later that he has no idea what just happened. The guys already gave me hell over taking leave for this date; wouldn't they laugh if they could see me now?
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