Her appearance was even more beautiful than her name. When she spoke others were quiet.
Everything she did she did with conviction. And not just because it was her job.
For a moment he felt like the little boy he had been in school: pen in hand, sheet of paper in front of him and getting annoyed whenever anyone dared interrupt the teacher. He simply loved to hear her speak.
Not so much for what she had to say (although the information was useful enough) but for the way she said it. The tone of her voice, the movement of her hands and lips...
At the end of the evening he thanked her for her words and discovered they were of the same blood.
His reward was great:
Not only did he get her e-mail address but also her phone number.
Perhaps before long they would indulge in a dress exchange.
Want to read more of my short stories?
My author page: Terrence Weijnschenk at Amazon