A meeting

He was anxious, she knew that. He'd brushed his knees of crumbs half a dozen times since they'd been sat here together and his hair stood no chance of falling over his eyes. He was a pleasant-enough man though and he made good conversation. He was also attentive and had shown consideration to her, pulling the chair out so she could sit at the table.

"Tell me," she said. "What are your passions? She held his eyes, resisting her own urge to look coyly down toward the table. "What is it that fills your dreams each night?"

Russell leaned forward toward her, clasping his hands between his knees. He'd be brushing them free of crumbs again soon, she thought, wagering herself a second cup of coffee if she was correct. Then he smiled, laid both his hands on the table and then returned to his previous position, sitting upright but not leaning back, not wishing to appear too casual so soon. This was only their first 'meeting'. She imagined it'd be a while yet before they began to have dates.

"I'm a painter. I've no real talent, of course, but it gives me pleasure." He stopped then, as though waiting for her to comment.

Diane said nothing. She waited. He'd tell her much more if she gave him the stage and an audience to play for. Even if he said nothing, his words choking him into silence, that would tell her a lot about this man.