Setting the table out on his back porch, the young man itches at his chin. Something isn’t right about the table. Maybe this fork shouldn’t be here, or that spoon should be on the left? He small sigh escapes him as he rearranges the table. There, good, no better than good—-perfect. He goes back into the house to retrieve the plate of finger sandwiches, as he hums a small tune. Today isn’t the perfect day for a tea, outside, but the breeze is quite refreshing, since he has been cooped up inside for the past couple of days. 

Taking a seat, he waits patiently for his guest. This was his intent anyway, to spend some time with this guest of his.