He leaned back and straightened himself; slightly surprised at the bitter and defensive tone she carried. He had the urge to shake her shoulders or stroke her cheek something to make her see, something to comfort her, even if it was a gesture. He shook his head and clenched his hand into a fist; to keep from touching her, and also because her story made him want to punch somebody. He could picture the old pervert taking advantage of her. It was the same sickening feeling he had gotten from hearing stories about his mom and dad. He would never understand rejecting someone who had given up himself or herself, much less use someone like that.
Once again he opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by her sudden change in subject. His eyes widened a bit. That really came out of nowhere. He was not put off by it, but was actually flattered. He nearly told her that he didn’t live here but would gladly move, but his mind was one step ahead of his mouth and he kept quiet. He was glad though, her sudden outburst had quelled his anger.
“I know what you mean, it’s not by luck that we met I’m sure.” He thought that, more like he felt it. “I’m working on a film, I should be here for a few months,” this was a pretty big production so he knew they would be here for –at least- five months. It was such a short amount of time, but he was grateful that he had any at all. “Do you live here?” He pictured her living above the bookshop. Was there even a second story? He couldn’t remember, but the picture in his head was quite nice.