As she wanders around the shop, tidying here, straightening there, keeping an eye on the customers in case someone needs assistance or is up to something nefarious, she wonders idly whether he will visit today. She knows she probably barely registers on his radar as anything other than the helpful shopgirl, but it does no harm to go on these little flights of fancy, and so she flies:
***
She turns from the art shelf in the corner, having sorted the books by artist, and he is there, right behind her, verging on too close for comfort.
"Hey," he says, "do you have any John Donne collections?" He might as well have said "God, you're beautiful when you're dusty" judging by the thumping of her heart and the electric throb in her nether regions.
"Yes, follow me and I'll show you..."
As they make their way into the bowels of the store towards the poetry section, safely tucked away in an oversized alcove, she feels him moving behind her and imagines his breath on her neck. They reach the nook and she shows him the books they have.
Suddenly, he moves much closer than is appropriate and says "Can I touch you?" - she doesn't know how to respond to that and looks up at him with her mouth slightly open. He takes this as assent and reaches his hand towards her face, brushing it lightly down her cheek, over her jaw and down her throat, then around to her nape, where he laces his fingers into her hair and pulls her slowly towards him, giving her every opportunity to pull away. She doesn't, and he dips his head for a light kiss on her lips, there and gone as quickly as a butterfly.