He finally approaches her after fifteen days of staring.

1.

She stands at the crossroads and holds a waffle-cone of mango gelato. "Can I help you?"

He looks her over in what must be an encroaching manner. "No. Thank you."

2.

She stands at the crossroads and holds a waffle-cone of peach gelato. "Can I help you?"

He scours his brain for an excuse to speak to her. "Do you have the time?"

The look she gives him is not friendly, but nor is it hostile enough to warrant deterrence from a further attempt. "It's exactly four p.m."

"Thank you."

3.

She stands at the crossroads and holds a waffle-cone of green tea gelato. "Can I help you?"

There is very little to comment upon - the weather? No, surely that is too peculiar coming from an almost-stranger. The time? No, banal. Or perhaps...

"That's a rather unusual gelato flavor."

For a moment she stares at him as if he has lost his mind, and he is inclined to agree. "Perhaps," she finally replies with a hint of a smile.

4.

She stands at the crossroads and holds a waffle-cone of chocolate gelato. "Can I help you?"

This image of her, standing there - corners of lips caked in bits of semi-dry chocolate, dark eyes curious and unblinking - is enough to strike him almost silent. Instead, he says the first thing to come to mind. "I'm Bob!"

The phrase is delivered with such vehemence at having found something substantial to say that he would not have blamed her for not responding. Instead she offers a hesitant grin. "Hello, Bob. I'm Lucy."

"Hello, Lucy."

It is ironic perhaps that this phrase - hello, and name - which naturally should be the catalyst of a conversation is in their case the closure thereof. She gives him another curious glance and crosses the street.

5.

She stands at the crossroads. "Can I help you?"

There is something missing from this picture, and he - having studied the same, lovely picture such countless times - knows what it is. "I notice a certain lack of gelato."

His own surprise at his boldness is echoed in her features, yet he cannot help but think there is approval behind her confusion. "I left my wallet on the bus."

Does so fine a creature deserve so commonplace a reason to break her perpetual image of perfection? No, he decides. Gesturing at the gelato parlor down the street, he offers her a tentative smile. "Allow me to treat you."

He does not know why she trusts him; did she never learn not to take candy from strangers? "Okay."

"My name is Bob," he says.

"Hello Bob, I'm Lucy."

- fin -