Canalside

"Thank you"
"You're welcome"

He followed her down the steps onto the pavement and thrust his hands into his coat pocket as she put her gloves on and swung her bag over her shoulder. 

"I know somewhere, but let's take a walk along the canal first.  It's only a bit of a detour."
"Okay" she said chirpily.

For a few minutes they walked in silence, both lost in their thoughts.  He glanced at her out of the corner of her eye and admired the curvy femininity of her outline with the strength of her form. She knew he was watching; she was doing the same.

"Down here", he gestured off the busy road down some steps to the canal.  She stepped slowly in her heeled boots and he followed.  Together they set off along the tow path, ambling, rather than walking.

"So?"
"What?"
"Do you always accept coffee and isolated walks from strangers or should I be worried?"  She laughed and then before she had thought herself out of it she put her arm through his and repled in a low tone "You should be very concerned."
"Oh good!" He smiled back at her.

They went on, walking in silence, a comfortable silence. 

"You know, I don't make a habit of this.  I mean, chatting up strangers...women...strange women"
"I do...but not women" she said emphatically and then giggled.  She paused.  "I don't actually."

He took his hand out of his pocket and took hers in his grip. She allowed him to hold her hand and she squeezed his back as if to say, thank you.

"Do you think me a bit forward?"
"Yes. But in a good way." 

It was a beautiful, February day.  The sun was bright and low.  The sky blue.  All they could hear was the distant hum of traffic back on the bridge from which they had come.  They talked of water and weather, film and food, music and Manchester, work and play.  Time slipped by, the sun dipped below the rooflines and dusk fell and still they talked. 

Martin realised that they had reached the steps back onto the street that led to the restaurant he had in mind.