She always sat on the end, perched in elegance with a straight back, ankles and knees together with her hands rested in her lap and her hair pushed back behind her ears.
She was always a few minutes before him. She liked that she could watch his approach, pretending to be smiling at children in the playground or at the fat pigeons that patrolled the park.
She always thought that if he was there before her, and he watched her approach, then he would know by her walk and the way her hips flirted with her skirt in the gentle spring breeze. It would be all too obvious.
Instead she watched him and played games in her mind, guessing each day what he would pull from his bag for his lunch. She liked to think about sandwiches and how she would prepare his lunch which such care that he would be able to taste her love.
She always acknowledged his approach by blushing slightly, her cheeks flushing rose pink whilst her heart raced at the thought of the day being the actual day. She hoped that he couldn’t see the small vibrations on her blouse which, to her, seemed so powerful that they might burst the small yellow buttons from her chest.
He always sat at the other end, sometimes he would be closer, only slightly but this made her knee bounce with delight. She enjoyed the days where the breeze stole his smell so that she could wear it all the way home.
Today the signs had been there: the sun danced on his jet black hair, his eyes alive with life. The breeze carried his musky sweet smell, embracing her as he approached. He sat closer than normal and from the corner of her eye she watched as he opened his rucksack and pulled out the neatly wrapped tin-foil lunch package. She saw a book, a diary with a name written in blue Biro across a white label positioned perfectly at the top right corner. "Tim P Johnson" she muttered over and over in her head whilst picturing her signature and how she would loop the 's' with the 'j'.
She knew his name and that was enough. She turned to her left, smiled and said "Hold me Tim"