It's been 21 days she said.

'It's just that it's delicate.' - Damien Rice, Delicate

First the train station, and now the cafe...

'It's been how long?' she says, '3 weeks or so.'

'21 days?' he answers as he picks up his coffee cup. She picks at her food.

'Since?'  She crosses her legs, sits tight, back straight, her body tensed.

'Since I first kissed you'.

'Oh.'

Head down in her cup of coffee she hunches her shoulders, avoids his face. The urge to run. Almost as strong as the urge to stay.  His left hand, thin wristed, picks at the cuff of his sweater.  

'Don't you have anything to say?'

'No, not really,' she says. 'I just never thought it would get this far. I usually run away before it gets this far.'

'Oh.'

'Does it scare you?' she asks, lifting her head for a minute and looking at his face, 'that I usually run?'

'I think,' his hand moves across the table to take hers, 'that it means maybe you don't know what to expect.'