"Thank you," Anne managed after a lengthy moment, accepting the flowers and pulled-out chair, placing her purse down, journal peeking out of it. "The flowers are beautiful." And really, the arrangement was fantastic, like something out of her dreams, like him. Why she had the inclination that she should twine some in her hair was a bit confusing, however, and she pushed the thought aside. She placed her hand on his as the words left her lips, a seemingly nonchalant gesture, friendly, if you will, but there was more to it than that. It was as though she had to make sure he was real, had to make sure he was not some sort of figment of her imagination, that she hadn't just dreamed him up all those seemingly endless restless evenings.
She couldn't stop looking at him, couldn't avert her eyes, couldn't stop taking in each detail, every bit of minutia, couldn't help but see that he was just the same as she'd seen in her dreams. And he was real. He was really there.
"Can't believe you're real," she mumbled, before realizing she'd said that aloud. "I'm terribly sorry," she added, hastily, turning scarlet. "It's just a bit much." She gestured toward him, then the flowers. "It's like my dreams have come to life." He seemed even more handsome right there in front of her, now that she could reach out and touch him, and she hadn't the slightest idea what to do.