Something compelled me to look up. I was sitting on the park bench reading "Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard" when, perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was just that his shadow happened to fall across my book, or it might just have been some bizarre quirk of the mind, but something made my eyes leave the page at that exact moment.

Now me, the ever romantic, had always believed in love at first sight. I believed in fate. I believed in magic. And this, I was sure, was none of those things.

Maybe that was a harsh thing to say. After all, something changed in me in that moment, but it wasn't one of those feelings I'd always thought and dreamt about. It was just me, looking at a guy walking through the park. I did that every day. Nothing special, I thought. Which wasn't exactly true. I mean, he wasn't really anything special, apart from being drop-dead gorgeous.

In all my twenty-six years I had done a lot of guy watching. Sue me, I wanted to find a man. Well, I finally found one. A beautiful one, in the non-feminine way of the word. Tall and, well, not quite lanky, more of a lean muscled body, he wore khakis and an oversized green sweater. His hair was a golden white-blonde color that shone in the sunlight, and had been trimmed to fray out around his ears, but just looking at it you could tell that it wanted to be longer, to grow luxuriously down his back. If I had been closer I could have noticed other details about him, but I was content to just watch him pass by my bench.

I never have mastered the discreetness aspect of guy watching, though. So, as I pretended to be absorbed in my book I could feel his eyes on me a moment. It was as though he was letting me know that he noticed and approved of my gazing at him. And while normally such a cocky non-verbal response would have turned me off immediately, I found myself blushing at the thought of him looking at me. I quickly buried my nose in my story, waiting until he had passed to catch one last glimpse.

And that was that.

I couldn't really say why I hurried back to the park the next day. I knew it was stupid to hope to see him there again, but hey, maybe I was just losing my mind after so many years of never having a boyfriend. It was the weekend, I didn't have to work until Monday and it was a beautiful day. Even if I didn't see him again, I could certainly look at the rest of the attractive males that visited the park on a regular basis.

I sat down on my usual bench and pulled another book from the depths of my purse/backpack. This time it was "Caught in Crystal", my favorite novel of Lyra by P.C. Wrede. I had been getting into a habit of reading old favorites at the park. I liked to read old favorites because I didn't lose touch with my version of the classics and I was not too far engrossed to miss the "scenery".

I hadn't really expected to see him again because I just finished convinced myself he wasn't coming. It was just a chance sighting, nothing more. Then, my breath caught in my throat. He was walking down the path, just as before. I definitely have to make it a habit to go to the park more often.

***

She was there again. Sitting on the same bench as yesterday. Some part of me had expected to see her there, and I suspected that might by why I ended up here, walking through the park again for no reason that I could readily produce. I could almost feel her eyes on me, and I was sure she could feel mine on her. I certainly didn't mind; people always looked at me. But her…she blushed again. I suppose she wasn't used to being looked at. That I didn't understand. She was a fair creature to look at and at her apparent age (I guessed somewhere in her early twenties) one would surmise that she had been looked at quite frequently. I can't deny that I myself wasn't having a fine time gazing at her.

She wore a black and red velvet skirt that flowed over the edges of the bench around her sandaled feet. A loose red tunic hung loosely over her average frame. As a drew nearer to her bench I could see her hair was a long and shining auburn color, pulled back in two simple braids around her ears while the rest fell halfway down her back. I noticed the light brown roots of her true hair color at the top of her head. I wasn't sure exactly what compelled me to approach her, but I did. I could tell she was forcing herself to focus on the book in front of her instead of me. Was she shy? Was she studying? Why was she avoiding making eye contact with me? I cleared my throat.

'Is this seat taken?" I asked, giving my most winning smile. She looked up at me through the tiny silver-framed glasses that perched on her nose. I nearly laughed. She had taken the glass lenses out of their frames! But I caught her eyes, they were a lovely blue-green color that seemed to shift ever so slightly, and my laughter halted before it reached the surface.

"No, not at all." She stammered politely. Ah, an American. She had a nice voice, for an American. Not the usual harsh tone that I'd heard from other tourists who visited Britain. I sat down.

She continued to read. She was doing a marvelous job of ignoring me. Not that I'm so stuck up that I expect people to gaze adoringly in my direction at all times, but after a few centuries of it I've gotten used to the fact that women fawn on me without my doing anything. This silence on the park bench was irritating. Insulting. A breath of fresh air.

"What book are ye reading?" I asked politely, the only conversation starter I could muster. Silently, she closed her book and held it out for me to see, keeping one finger on her page so she wouldn't lose her spot.

"Looks interesting." I commented. I actually wasn't so sure, for it looked to be a fantasy novel and the ones I had encountered always portrayed things rather inaccurately. Still, I didn't want to offend her.

"It is." She replied, this time addressing me fully. She did have marvelous eyes. For a moment I felt as though perhaps she saw completely through me with those shifting blue eyes of hers. In that moment, I felt her heartbeat filling the air, as I could feel my stomach churn in anticipation. And then the moment ended, and it seemed we both breathed again for the first time.

"So that's what you are." She murmured, so softly I was sure that even I wouldn't have heard her if I hadn't been so engaged in our conversation. Then she stood suddenly, apologizing and making up some excuse about how she had to be somewhere. I watched her go with a strange feeling mixing in my stomach. I felt exposed. I felt as though maybe she had seen through my guise and guessed at who I was. It both thrilled me and made me nervous. But I think because of that, I gained a respect for her that I normally might not have.

She left her book. A chance to see her again? Maybe.

From that day on it became an unspoken tradition to meet in the park on the weekends. I discovered her name to be Felicia, which was a lovely and simple name, yet seemed to be too exotic for her. For all our chatter, I might never have learned her name but for the fact that she asked me to help her find a new one. She was an aspiring actress, which seemed to be a trivial American dream to me, but it meant so much to her. Anyway, she was searching for a stage name, and was quite disappointed when I told her I found her name to be lovely as it was.

I enjoyed our meetings immensely; it was something new for me to do. Felicia was an interesting woman, and she made me feel as though I wasn't so alone in the world. While I admit that feeling was nice, it startled me somewhat, and it made me uncomfortable at times because it seemed she could see through me completely. Nevertheless, when a week later she didn't appear, I began to worry.