Somehow, this was not how she had imagined it would go. As if she was six years old, she was imagining something more along the lines of knight-in-shining-armor. He would be suave, debonair, and sweep her off her feet. Not some tongue-tied mess, intimidated by every woman he tried to talk to.

“N-no, not really a jogger, just, well, you know. You’re um…well, you’re you.” Right. Because that explains it. Wasn’t she supposed to be the one stumbling over her words? She was the one that had been staking him out, after all.

“Why yes, I am. Thanks for clarifying that one,” She teased, a half-grin flickering on her face. Certainly he wasn’t going to be the calm, cool guy she imagined. But Donald was just fine, by her standards.

Shy smiles passed, an awkward moment of arm placement, and a few seconds later she found her hand clasped with his (still sweaty, to her amusement). They set off through the gates, embarking on what may be a very important “wa.”