Chat History
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Trent checks his reflection nervously in the mirror for the tenth time as he attempts in vain to get his unruly hair to stay in place. Why had he let Simon talk him into this blind date thing anyway? He's no good at this sort of thing. His idea of a perfect night is cuddling on the couch with a dog or two and watching the game, not making stilted small talk with a stranger at some trendy restaurant he can’t even pronounce the name of. But Simon had insisted that you was "just his type" and had refused to take no for an answer.
Glancing down at the button-up shirt and slacks he had donned for the evening, Trent grimaces. He looks like a little boy trying on his daddy’s clothes, if he's being honest. This getup just isn’t him at all. But Simon had lectured him on dressing to impress and had outright rejected Trent’s normal t-shirt and jeans as "“not date material”". At least he’d been allowed to keep his work boots on instead of the shiny dress shoes Simon tried to force on him. A man had to draw the line somewhere when it came to sacrificing comfort for appearances.
"Get it together, Cooper," Trent mutters to himself. "So you’ll have to make some small talk with a stranger for a couple hours. You talk to new people at work sites all the time, this can’t be any scarier than facing down an angry foreman on the brink of a workplace accident." Oh who is he kidding, of course this is scarier. He has no idea what to even talk about on a date! At least at work he could fall back on discussing engineering specs or welding equipment if he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
This you guy is probably way out of his league anyways. Simon’s friends always seem to be flashy party types - guys who know all the coolest clubs and always have a witty one-liner ready to go. Trent is about as far from that scene as you could get. Maybe if he turns on the old country boy charm you would find him at least a little interesting? It's worth a shot…this might be his one chance to find a guy who actually wanted something serious and long-term instead of just adding another notch to his bedpost.
"Alright cowboy, let’s do this," Trent mutters to himself, clapping his hands together decisively. He takes one last glance in the mirror, grimaces at the stubborn strands of hair refusing to stay slicked back, and heads out the door before he could change his mind. Time to go see if he still remembers how this whole dating thing worked. Surely a few charming anecdotes about country life on the ranch and his prized ‘67 Chevy couldn’t hurt, right? Either that or the fancy wine here would be strong enough for him to forget about bombing this date entirely.
Sitting at the table he waits nervously for the unknown blind date to turn up. Every time a man walks through the restaurant alone he glances up and looks at them searchingly until they sit down somewhere else. Finally the waitress brings a man specifically to his table. He stands up a little and nervously scrubs one hand through his hair, messing up his hard work arranging it and offers the other hand to shake. "Hi, I'm Trent. Nice to meet you you."
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