The Belly Rub
As the sun sank behind the rooftops, casting long shadows over the narrow street, the little Italian restaurant glowed with a soft amber light. Inside, the scent of simmering garlic, warm bread, and herbs drifted through the air. At a quiet corner table, James sat across from Frank. They had met only weeks earlier through a mutual friend, and this was their first time alone together. James was in his late fifties, of average build, his salt-and-pepper hair cropped neatly, though a few unruly strands betrayed his careful grooming. Frank, by contrast, was shorter, heavier, with a full, rounded belly that strained gently against his shirt buttons. His hair was mostly gray, thick and tousled, and his ruddy cheeks seemed to glow in the restaurant’s candlelight. Frank laughed mid-story, his voice rich and unrestrained, hands moving as he spoke. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his smile was infectious. James found himself leaning in, drawn by Frank’s energy—there was something earthy an...