Eric

He was young and blonde and beautiful, like boys around the age of 18 should be. In his case, the beautiful was of a type with some sort of styled hair, and possibly just a little too skinny, a slightly mischevious look in his eye. I had spotted him across the room, busy waiting on tables and cleaning tables, and I thought he was probably gay. I mean, with that much style in his hair, the odds were good. But then I had dismissed him from my thoughts.

Later, while my good friend and I have finished our dinner and are milling through the gift shop portion of Cracker Barrel, he's walking in my direction. Since we're near the restrooms, I figured he was headed that way. But he was looking at me and smiling at me. In the few seconds he was headed towards the restroom, he never lost eye contact with me and was just smiling.

Just as I was forming the thought in my head, "Young man, that's nice of you to flirt with me, but you should go find yourself someone your own age. . . " he came around a huge display of candy and . . . . held my phone up like Vanna White turning a letter on TV.