From Francine's perspective:
Francine's hands were damp with nervous sweat as she approached Jacob's booth. His face was etched with anger, deep lines marking his forehead from the intensity of his frown. His shoulders were so rigid that his muscles seemed ready to burst from his jacket. He was a picture of tormented beauty, and Francine could only assume it was due to the earlier conversation with Amanda. Her heart ached at the sight of his evident distress.
"Hi," she managed to say, halting at the booth, uncertainty washing over her about where to sit. She was engulfed in a wave of awkwardness and confusion.
"Hey, how are you doing? Here, come sit down... please," Jacob gestured to the spot beside him on the bench seat. A small flutter of joy filled Francine's heart at his invitation.
