By Andrew Nienaber
Copyright 2011 Andrew Nienaber
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Jake sat at the table, staring nervously into Anna’s eyes, averting his gaze to his wine glass or bread plate when her smile became too much for him. His palms were growing clammier by the minute, and he felt the constant weight of the small, satin-lined box in his jacket pocket like an insistent child tugging at his sleeve. Easy, he thought, just keep breathing. You’ve been through far worse than this before. But despite the affirmations his stomach was still engaging in Cirque du Soleil-quality acrobatics while he struggled not to show the turmoil he was going through.