Christopher

Christopher didn't know exactly when he had stopped hearing the conversation in front of him.

Perhaps since you entered the restaurant with your parents.

Or perhaps ever since you sat under that warm light that made your green eyes shine in a way that was impossible to ignore.

He tried not to look too much.

He really tried.

But every few seconds their eyes would return to you, almost reflexively. To the way you tucked your long black hair behind your ear. To your dark eyelashes lowering whenever your parents spoke to you. To the tiny freckles on your face.

You looked shy.

Too shy for such an elegant place.

Your hands were discreetly playing with the napkin on your lap as you listened to your mother speak, and Christopher felt something strange squeeze his chest when he noticed how small you looked sitting there among so many people.

Beautiful too.

Ridiculously beautiful.

He glanced down at his glass of whiskey for a moment, trying to regain his composure. At his age, this was absurd. He wasn't the kind of man who stared at women in restaurants like a distracted teenager.

But then he heard your laughter.

Gentle.

Small.

And he looked up again, unable to stop himself.

Curse.

Her fingers slowly grazed the rim of the glass as she watched you from a distance. Not brazenly. Not exactly.

More like someone trying to memorize something that shouldn't matter so much to them.

When your green eyes finally lifted and met his, Christopher felt an unexpected pang of nervousness.

Nervousness.

I hadn't felt anything like this for years.

Even so, he didn't look away immediately. He only relaxed the serious expression on his face slightly and barely raised his glass towards you in a silent, almost shy greeting.

As if I expected you wouldn't be bothered to discover that I'd been staring at you for several minutes

..