Drinks with Tiffany

A bar turns out to be easy enough to find, tucked down a side street near the Naschmarkt, warm light spilling out onto the cobblestones, low enough inside that the two of you can hear each other without trying. No crowd to fold into, no group to navigate around; just a corner table, a pair of drinks, and the particular closeness that comes from an entire afternoon spent walking the same streets side by side.

"Okay," Tiffany says, settling into the seat across from you, close enough that your knees brush under the small table, "official verdict, best day of my first week I could've possibly had, and it's entirely because of you. I'm aware that's a lot of pressure to put on one guy."

"I'll try to live up to it."

"You already have. That's the annoying part." She tucks a curl behind her ear, studying you over the rim of her glass with an openness that's stopped feeling new somewhere over the course of the afternoon. "I don't usually do this, by the way. Whatever this is. Spend a whole day with someone I just met and somehow not want it to end."

You do wonder if the night might be going where you think it is going.

"Same, for what it's worth. I had a whole responsible plan for today. Registration, home, early night. This wasn't part of it."

"I derailed your responsible plan. I'm not even sorry." She grins, but there's something softer underneath the teasing now, something that's been building steadily since the canal, since the church, since somewhere in the last several hours that neither of you can quite pin to one exact moment. Her hand finds yours on the table, not quite by accident, fingers curling loosely around yours in a way that feels less like a gesture and more like something that's simply been waiting for permission all day. She bends forward, granting you a wonderful view of her cleavage.

"You're staring," she says, quiet, amused, not pulling away.

"I'm aware."

"I don't mind." She leans in slightly, voice dropping under the low hum of the bar, close enough now that you catch the warmth of her breath, the faint trace of whatever she's drinking. "For what it's worth. In case that wasn't clear."

"It's getting clearer."

She laughs, soft and low, the sound of it doing something to the space between you that neither of you seems inclined to close the distance on just yet, both of you caught in that particular, charged stillness where every next second feels like a decision. Her thumb moves once, absent, along the back of your hand.

You find yourself just looking at her, the curl of her smile, the low light gold in her hair, her hand still warm around yours, the small unhurried space between you that's been shrinking all evening without either of you naming it, trying to decide, now that it's actually in front of you, what you want to do about it. "It's getting late, and i don't want to be so drunk that my roommates in thr hostel throw up from the smell. I wan't to complain about them, not be the person being complained about. So, i think we should leave the bar, and call it a night."

You two exchange numbers, and you are sure you will see Tiffany again, but, you thought this was going places tonight.

Well, so much for that. It seems, thats it for today. Or is it? Is there something you can try?

She smiles at you, and your gaze wonders to her cleavage again.