The suspense was palpable as I unfolded the receipt, my heart racing. The two words scrawled in frantic handwriting stared back at me: “Run Now.” My date’s pale face turned to panic, and before I could process it, he bolted for the door. Confused, I glanced at the waitress, who nodded urgently toward the exit. Instinct kicked in—I grabbed my bag and followed, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing behind me.
Outside, the cool night air hit my face as I scanned the street. My date was already disappearing around a corner, and a shadowy figure emerged from the restaurant, muttering angrily. The waitress had saved me from something—perhaps a con, or worse. I ducked into an alley, heart pounding, and sent a quick text to a friend for help. Minutes later, a car pulled up, and I jumped in, explaining the bizarre ordeal. We drove away as the figure’s shouts faded into the distance.
Later, piecing it together, I realized the “date” had likely used a fake card, and the waitress’s quick thinking spared me from being implicated. Grateful, I vowed to trust my instincts more—and maybe stick to coffee dates next time