They shook a lock of hair off their forehead. It was dark, almost black, streaked through with grey and on the curly side, perpetually disheveled. They were wearing a plain black t-shirt tonight, with a turquoise pocket. It was a smart pop of color. It also highlighted their eyes, which were blue-ish-green and...rather spectacular. Which I had always suspected was the case. But it was pleasant, seeing the evidence up close as they glanced across the table at me. They looked a bit older, their skin a bit weathered, the stubble adorning their chin flecked with grey, just like their hair. But those eyes were pretty as sin. And made all the better, I thought, by the fact that either they wore mascara or had the prettiest eyelashes known to humanity. But I was pretty sure it was mascara. Because sometimes they sported eyeliner, too, some shadow on their lids. Tonight, though, it was all lashes.

It occurred to me that, once again, we had probably been staring at each other for too long.

“I’m Lily, by the way,” my brain finally kicked into gear to say.

“Right! Sorry. I’m Sam.” Apologizing for no reason. Sam. Adorbs.

“Do you want to sit with us?” I offered with a tilt of my head, back toward our table. “You don’t have to. But you can if you want.”

“I—” They opened their mouth. Closed it. And then, instead of answering my question, blurted: “I like your dress.”

“Oh!” I looked down at myself, as if I had forgotten what I was wearing. “Thank you. It’s one of my more recent favorites. I was pretty happy with how it turned out.”

Understatement. I was thrilled with how it had turned out. Like after years of working at it, I was finally starting to understand draping. And how to actually shape fabric to my hips properly.

“Wait.” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed. “You made that?”

“I did. Making clothes is…” I waved a hand around. My dream. “Kind of a hobby. It’s surprisingly satisfying, making your own clothes. Especially when you’re fat, and shopping for store bought stuff is such a nightmare.”

“So you make most of your clothes?” Sam asked, brows still in a cute bunch, and I appreciated it, that they didn’t react to the f-word, that they didn’t try to tell me I was wrong.

I nodded, and they leaned back in their chair, shaking their head.

“That’s...incredible. Your clothes are always so great. That’s not a hobby; that’s like...a fucking skill.”

Your clothes are always so great. Like they had noticed them before.

“God,” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Can I just carry you around in my pocket all the time so you can keep showering me with compliments whenever I need them?”

“Yes,” Sam said immediately.

And then blushed.

I was fucking glad I had come to this table.