He saw her from the opposite end of the bar. He didn't bother looking at any of the others. So beautiful, he thought. Definitely his type. It was always the hair that caught his attention. Cascading down to her shoulders in loose dark-brown curls, with just the slightest reddish highlight, which under the dim lights illuminating the row of high chairs along the bar, had the sheen of burgundy. It matched the half-filled wine glass that sat in front of her.
She hadn't looked his way. A part of him was glad for that. He wanted to make an impression, the right impression. Instinctively, he tugged at his suit jacket, smoothing any possible creases, straightened his tie and lifted the knot tight but appropriately so, then moved down the opposite side of the bar, his eyes never leaving her. For a moment, he imagined himself as an African big cat in a zoo stalking a prey, eyes fixed, breathing quickened, feeling alive, moving with a purpose that hadn't felt in a long, long time.
She hadn't looked his way. A part of him was glad for that. He wanted to make an impression, the right impression. Instinctively, he tugged at his suit jacket, smoothing any possible creases, straightened his tie and lifted the knot tight but appropriately so, then moved down the opposite side of the bar, his eyes never leaving her. For a moment, he imagined himself as an African big cat in a zoo stalking a prey, eyes fixed, breathing quickened, feeling alive, moving with a purpose that hadn't felt in a long, long time.
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