He watched the waitress instead of the pace of her hand when it played a game of tag against the lined paper. The way she hesitated to even lift the instrument, the way her attention flitted over his shoulder, beyond him. Finally, when his line of sight slipped south, there was no surprise to be found in the words, nor artistry in the curl of her fingers.
Bored? He could tell that, there wasn't a movement of her's that did not betray her to him. The weight in her shoulders, a heaviness that differed from something as simple as tired. Besides, the most major evidence of her boredom was that she was sitting here, scribbling notes to a deaf man.
In time, Lukas reached for the pencil, and pulled it from her fingers without so much as a brush of fingerprints between them.