This is such a bad romantic comedy move.
Ace sat in his truck in a nondescript little strip mall, waiting for a reasonable time to arrive for his fake appointment with a real chiropractor. He had been in the parking lot for nearly an hour, having grown too antsy to stay home any longer.
The weekend had been agonizing, three days of limbo knowing that Paul was just a couple miles away -- close enough to potentially see and touch, but so far away in every other respect.
Now Ace was even closer to his goal, and he still had no idea what he was going to say once he saw Paul again. That was assuming, of course, that Paul would listen to him.
He braced himself for the possibility that Paul might not, in fact, want anything to do with him anymore. And even though Ace knew it was all based on
