He enters the shop, the jingle of the door bell rings his arrival. Her eyes move lightning fast to his green. The white of her teeth visible behind the soft red of her lips. His breath hitches. She approaches from behind the bar, a note in her hand and a pencil clasped between her fingers. He waits, listening to the soft steps of her sandals. The loud voices dulled by her elegant evasion of nodding heads and moving elbows of regulars. Then silence. The lights dimmed. Or seemed to dim. He couldn't quite tell. Her hair grew brighter, her eyes blue crystals bathed in tender ink of a Fountain pen. "Hi," he finally manages without sounding hoarse. "Salut," she responds with shy grin. "Back again, Monsieur?" "Yea-yes," he chuckles nervous, the hand rubbing at his neck. Her eyes studied him, absorbed his appearance. "You look nice," she comments carefully. "Are you per'aps- perhaps meeting someone?" Caught in the moment, he nodded before shaking his head and hand self-consciously. "No-no, I'm her for yo-I mean...I'm here because it's a nice place." Unsure whether she'd heard his faux-pas, he tried to seem confident, giving her a calm smile that hid his teeth. "Please," she placed a hand on his shoulder, the touch electrifying. "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. You must forgive me, I can be so stupidly direct." "It's alright, I was just thinking of yo-yoghurt." He froze. The world stood still. The beat of his heart slow but undeniably twisting in embarrassment. Then he heard a giggle and turned his head toward the silky sweet sound. Her blue eyes gazed at him with mirth, understandably used to such behaviour in front of her. Because of her, undoubtedly. "I must strike you as a fool, aren't I?" He admitted, his eyes turning down to look at the cutlery on the table, hoping to reach for the knife and end his life right here before he made a bigger fool than he already was. "Possibly," he heard her admit, his heart sank. "But I like you nonetheless, Monsieur."