—Reid's POV
I forgot my lunch at home today and I didn't feel up to any vending machine snacks. So that is why I'm walking down the sidewalk to the nearest cafe.
I order some coffee and a sandwich before finding an empty table and sitting down. I take out my book. It's a vague selection about a serial killer. It's an excellent novel, it's no New York Time's Best Seller, that's for sure.
I hear my name being called and I set the book down and stand.
I thank the barista and sit back down at my table. I glance at the table next to me and see a woman my age reading the same book. She sits crossed legged and plays with the string of her hoodie as she reads.
What are the odds we both are reading the exact same book about abuse and murder. I know it's not on everyone's bucket list of books to read.
She glances up at me and I quickly divert my gaze to my sandwich. I decide to eat it as quickly as I can before I need to get back to work.
I finish with more time to kill so I pick my book back up and read.
Not too long in, the woman sitting at the adjacent table comments, "It's a good book, isn't it."
I glance up at her to see if she was talking to me. And of course she was since she was referring to the book that only the two of us have in this time and place.
"Yeah," I smile at her.
She smiles back, "I'm Dallas."
"I'm Spencer."
"Nice to meet you. How far are you?" She points to the open pages.
"Chapter 10." I did not have this book for long. In fact, I only started reading after I entered the coffee shop.
"I just finished it. I don't want to spoil anything so we should probably change the subject," she shyly grins.
Analyzing her body language she seems self-conscious. It contrasts the outgoing behavior she exhibited when introducing herself.
"I can read 200,000 words per second so I would be finished in a few minutes," I tell.
She nods her head, "That's really cool. I read fast on a good day," she laughs.
It feels great and unusual to have a girl just approach me and start a conversation. She seems fully engaged in this conversation judging by her body language.
"Dallas!" A barista calls and said woman turns her head. She gets up to get her food and I take the couple of moments to catch up in the book.
When she sits back down, I'm on the last chapter. She doesn't say anything so I finish the book.
I close it and smile at her, "I just finished it. You won't spoil anything anymore."
She laughs, "Good. So what did you think about it?"
I begin to ramble, "It's excellent. Though the profile of the serial killer doesn't quite match up with his characterization–" I stop myself after realizing that I'm unloading my behavioral analysis on this girl.
I watch her, expecting to see unease or disgust in her eyes. I expect her to excuse herself and leave.
But she doesn't. Instead she grins, "I know, right? Someone who has spent more than ten years in a mental facility would definitely exhibit obsessive need for organization and neatness. Instead he's just written as a slob."
I laugh, "Exactly!"
We both glance down as our laughs die down.
Dallas brushes her medium brown hair behind her studded ear and comments, "It's so great having someone to talk to about this stuff. None of my friends or family understand it like I do."
