The woman in a dress like a warm cafe latte was wholly immune to the ravages of rain and mud, or so Brandon thought. From time to time, as she glanced up from her book – probably Dostoevsky or something else suited to her cool sophistication – he caught a glimpse of dark brown eyes beneath a cascade of curls. Perhaps it was wishful thinking or Brandon's wayward life spent in classical studies, but she looked divinely Hellenic: a venerable statue dressed in youth and flesh and blood. Brandon was a timid man, uncomfortable with open staring, so his glances were few and furtive: the bounce of her hair as she shook back a stray curl, the delicate pressure of a ruby fingernail against her cheek, the half-smile as she caught him looking in her direction. The red tincture over Brandon's face belied his best efforts to conceal how that alluring dazzle of teeth had stopped his heart. He stumbled to his feet, grabbed for his belongings and bundled out the door. Had he been in my position he would have seen Elena's eyes follow him down the sidewalk and felt her sigh of regret from across the store. As I made my own way out of the store I handed her a phone – left behind in
"Take it. He'll be calling."
Posted by Gregory Taylor
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