Finally. I spot the shadow of a lone female approaching our table. She’s walking briskly, her head down, fingers clutched tight around the straps of her backpack. Her long dark brown hair streams behind her, floating on the warm breeze. She’s in cropped jeans and a black T-shirt, a cream cardigan tossed over it, and all I can think is damn, she must be hot. In the literal sense. Then I glance up and see her face, immediately recognizing her. It’s the girl from the bookstore. I don’t even know her name.
