Reaching out, Abby plucked the page from between Robb's fingers, careful that their hands not touch lest she provide him the wrong impression on her right frame of mind.
'Thank you, Robb,' she replied, giving the page a once over to make sure everything was legible. Surprisingly, though small and tight the loopy script was tidy, immaculately articulated from a mind just as clear and clever.
How very apt.
Tucking the paper safely into her jacket pocket - Abby didn't carry a purse, big bulky, annoying things women used to cart their lives around in - she promised, 'I will give him a call right after work,' because to not follow through on such a thoughtful gesture was tantamount to proving ungrateful. Aside from that, Robb had made his line of work sound rather interesting. There were laws set in place to protect working animals within Hollywood, but Abby - like Robb - was the sort who preferred to take matters into her own hands. If there was the chance to assist and enlighten, she'd take it.
Especially if it paid.
Checking the time, Abby found twenty minutes to spare before she needed to begin heading into the zoo. Nearly a half hour to elongate their conversation and get to know Robb - the man, not the lion tamer - a little better. To see what made him tick beyond whiskers and tails and deep rumbling African growls. To see if he really was every bit the polished white knight he outwardly portrayed.
'So Robb,' she asked, leaning forward on elbows and giving him her undivided attention, 'Tell me about Russia...'