Cynical friends have told me that I make my eyes large when I want something, that I turn on a vacuous innocently sweet look for a purpose. I disagree; if I widen my eyes, it's not conscious.
Her fingers squeezed back at mine. I looked at her and said "I'm glad I met you."
With her other hand she stroked the back of my head. I get that a lot; the velvety feel of a close cut. But her hand in mine made it seem special. She spoke again.
"You were just so nice when we were dancing," I bent my neck to the side and bit my lower lip. This seemed like bad news to brace myself for. She continued, "It was your eyes, you just seemed so happy and... I guess sweet."
I let go of her hand and gave her a hug, clasping my hands at the small of her back. Releasing her, I caught her hand again, fingers intertwining. "Sure you don't want to go get breakfast?"
She smiled. "No, I have to go. Do you ever come here on Thursdays?"
My hand held hers tighter, seeing the end. I shook my head. "I didn't know they had a Thursday night."
Her fingers rejected mine, and both her hands met behind my back in an embrace. She kissed my cheek. "I usually come here Thursdays. It's a good night; you should come here for it."
I returned the embrace, but not the kiss. "Okay. I'll look for you," and spoke her name.
We both let go. I walked home.