It seems like you've seen those dark eyes everywhere lately. At the marketplace, the bookstore, and now at the coffee shop this morning. You don't know the man they belong to, with his messy hair and his sweater vests, but saying you'd like to get to know him is an understatement.

As the barista hands you your coffee, a man brushes past you, a coffee in one hand and a large book in the other. When you turn to look at him, hearing his mumbled "I'm sorry," you realize it's the same man, the one that is either stalking you or simply frequents the same places as you. You're frozen for a moment, just watching him as he goes over to sit at a corner table, opening his book to the first page.

By the time you've finished your coffee, you lean your head over to look across the few tables separating you and him, seeing that he is over halfway done with the book. His lips are slightly pursed and pushed to the side, his eyes narrowed, and the longer you watch him, the more sure you are that he's just skimming the pages. There's no way he's reading that fast— he spends less than five seconds on a page. But you notice the way that his eyes flick left to right, how his finger traces the page as he reads. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to take this opportunity to go speak to him. No time like the present and all that shit.

You stand from your table and walk over to where he's sitting, tilting your head down at the book. He doesn't notice you at first, until you gesture to his book, which gets his attention. He glances up at you, eyebrows a bit raised and lips slightly parted as you speak. "Are you actually reading?"

A small, almost bashful smile adorns his face as he glances down at the book and then back up at you, hands fiddling with each other as he responds. "Uh, yeah. I am."

Without another word, you sit down in the chair across from him, noticing the way that he clears his throat awkwardly and watches your movement, as if unsure how to react. Cute.