Hurratio XVII

Hurratio XVII is probably dead. I say this because we had a fabulous first date, complete with excellent witty banter, a captivating and sincere discussion about our respective careers/passions, and a decent amount of hockey-related trash talking. I'm pretty sure even the waitress wanted us to have a second date - that's how awesome date number one was. Consequently, this is how we ended the evening:

HXVII: So listen, I had a really great time. Can we do this again sometime?

Me: Me too - I'd love to meet up again soon!

HXVII: What's your schedule looking like next week?

Me: I have house guests arriving on Thursday, but sometime before that would be great!

HXVII: So... should I call you?

Me: Definitely! You've got my number, right?

HXVII: [getting out his cell phone]: Let me just make sure I've got it... it's 416-xxx-xxxx, right?

Me: Right.

HXVII: Okay, I've got your number! Talk to you soon?

Me: Talk to you soon.

And... NOTHING. Not a call, not a text, not even one of those pathetic OKCupid winks. Just a long blank silence. Which means he died, right? Sudden coronary, traffic accident, lightening: something like that. I mean, I haven't been perusing the obituaries, because I don't want to invade Hurratio XVII's right to a private, stalker-free memorial service. But I'm thinking he's definitely bit it sometime in the last seven days. RIGHT?