Steve took the book back, but instead of putting it away, he took out a pencil and watched Jane for a while, sketching as she cobbled and coded. There was a mixture of intensity and joy on her face that he wanted to capture. It was at odds with the ever-present sadness in her eyes.
The sadness was one Steve could relate to. He wondered if she had been a soldier too, wondered where her war was. He could recognize that much. They called it post-traumatic stress disorder now, his psych evaluation had said. In his day, it had been "shell shock".
She didn't seem to notice his drawing, and by the time she looked up again, the book was back in his coat. "You're finished?" He was impressed. It hadn't seemed that complex, given how quickly she worked. "We can take it to my place. Um. If that's okay with you. Is it... improper to invite you over? We hardly know one another."