Their flowing conversation broke when both realized that the uninterrupted eye contact between him and her had caused unbeknownst feelings of ease and slight whimsy which came with light-headed thoughts of grabbing each other's hand and giving everyone at the party the Irish Goodbye then running off far, far away, to find a place somewhere in the city that would set a terrific scene for their first kiss story when people asked them how they met. The moment of silence that followed made it quite evident to both that the simultaneous hurricanes going on in their stomachs were the direct result of that lengthy shared stare.
She had to ask, which normally she wouldn't or hadn't before, but this was a kind of different where she knew that not saying anything would turn into one of those cautionary tales in her life when giving out advice about not having the courage to be bold, that would end with: . . . and I never saw him again.
“Why do you look at me like that?”
“Like what?” He replied, instantly knowing why he knew right then.
“Like that. Like, deep.”
He hesitated, only for a moment, only for posture, only in the attempt not to let on how beguiled he was with her. Not to scare her off. But he too understood this was a time for courage, not meekness.
“Because you have a magic in your eyes that I didn't believe was real in this world, and I need it so much closer, and if I look away I might miss something that I never saw before.”
She smiled, “— I'm Meredith.”
