It was happy hour. He was sitting at the bar with a little time to kill. So he sent a few text messages to friends just checking in. Then that feeling of somebody watching him came over.
She was sitting at the bar multitasking. Texting, and watching him out of the corner of her eye.
She waited just long enough to break eye contact to let him know she was interested, but only if he was of course.
The softness of her glance let him know she was hoping he made a move.
So he ordered another of whatever she was drinking.
She looked confused as the bartender brought the drink over, until he explained it was from the gentleman across the room.
She smiled and mouthed thanks. He gave a thumbs up, rounded the bar . . . and walked to the door.
Just before exiting, he felt a tap on his shoulder. She thanked him again. Then asked what she came over to say. “You’re leaving?”
He gave a sheepish smile and a “Yes,” and jetted down the stairs.
He rounded the corner, and met me for dinner. Over a creamy dessert, he told me that story. And I fell a little more in love.