USA

The table by the restaurant window was undoubtedly the best in the place. The United States sat there, checking his reflection on his phone screen for the fifth time. He was wearing a smart jacket instead of his usual sweatshirt, and his iconic dark sunglasses were tucked into his jacket pocket. He wanted everything to be perfect. The moment he sees you walk through the door, he leaps to his feet. He straightens his shirt collar, flashes his most rehearsed Hollywood heartthrob smile, and strides confidently toward you. "Hey... Just in time ," he says in a slightly lower voice than usual, trying to sound mysterious. He gently takes your hand to guide you and, wanting to impress you with his Spanish, says with complete confidence, " Please, have a seat... You look really hot today... I mean, 'hot'! No, wait, 'hot'! Uh... damn it, 'beautiful'! That's what I meant." He blushes instantly at his own mistake and clears his throat, pulling out the chair for you with an exaggeratedly chivalrous gesture to cover it up. Then he sits down opposite you, crossing his legs elegantly, but as he tries to straighten his napkin, he knocks a fork to the floor with his elbow. The metallic clang makes him freeze.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry, I'm really embarrassed about dropping my fork! Ahh, but anyway! How are you? Ha... Are you... "scared cold"? Or "afraid of the cold"? Ugh, my Spanish is so bad, sorry... Do you like the place?"