Breathing in as though her words depended on it, she said "Sorry, did I disturb you?" And then wished she hadn't because it seemed so poor an opener.
He looked at her more closely now. He was always careful how he looked at women; his eyes darted quickly over her face and down. He feared the female reproach for staring and yet, young or old, blonde or dark, tall or short, he found their very presence alluring. Sometimes he wondered if his continual need to look made him some sort of pervert. Often he wished they would look back. No one ever did. Or he never noticed. But she was looking now.
When she spoke he felt tongue tied. He knew he should reply, but he didn't want to appear cold and disinterested. He craved conversation, he loved the interplay of the new, but he also felt so terribly self conscious faced with the revelation of the first words.
"No, not at all. It's a bit boring actually" he said motioning towards the magazine. "It's not mine, it was just left here" Oh God, too much information, he was rambling.
She smiled. It was a warm smile. An understanding smile. A slightly mischievous smile. The combined effect relaxed him. He sheepishly smiled back....