“Oh shut up,” I grumbled, turning back to my screen, trying not to smile. “Piss off and let me get back to work.” He smiled and left me to it, thankfully, without another word.

But the truth was, in my mind, I was adding a qualifier. Which wasn’t good.

My priority as a support group leader was to offer support, information, and pathways to resources if required, not to abuse his trust in my hopes of a possible date prospect.

For the rest of the day, I tried not to think about it. I tried not to think about Jordan, and I tried not to think about how he’d looked at me on the bus when I stood up and we were standing almost nose-to-nose, or how he’d blushed, and how he’d smelt. And I told myself I wasn’t ready for another failed attempt at a relationship, and I had to keep reminding myself that it was stupid and foolish to be thinking anything about a guy I’d only just met.

But later that day on the bus, I smiled when I saw him waiting to get on. His friend Merry was waiting with him and I saw her look into the bus and she smiled when she saw me, so I could only assume they’d been talking about me, and that made me happier than it should have. But the bus was kind of full and he got bustled up toward the back. He was flustered and he almost tripped, and he mumbled, “Motherfu—” before he caught himself and didn’t actually swear, but it made me smile.

I resisted turning around to see if he’d found a seat or to see if he was looking at me, but when it was my stop, I looked up toward the back of the bus without really meaning to. He was sitting second from the back with his nose in a book, and he glanced up just as I was stepping off.

I smiled at him; he smiled right back. I waved and he grinned and blushed and held the book up to hide his face. I stepped off the bus, sorry I didn’t get to speak to him, but our wordless exchange was perhaps even better. It was shy and almost sweet, which said more than maybe what a full conversation might have, and that was ridiculous.