More like a Daisy
She was standing there, simply standing there at the foot of the stairs, dressed rather nice in a slimming black dress.
Here eyes sparkled hopefully, a faint curve of red painted lips as she looked from person to person.
A rose was in one hand, hanging down to almost the end of her dress.
It could have been any of those things that just drew him to her, made him want to walk up to her, extend a hand, introduce himself.
She was beautiful, but in a simple way. More beautiful in the way of a daisy than in the way of the rose she carried.
But to him, at that moment, she was the most beautiful girl in the world.
He stopped and turned towards her, and she smiled broader.
Perhaps she had been staring at him as well.
But then he saw that her eyes drifted behind him, and another man rushed up, smiling back at her, looking at her in a way that said that he was clearly in love.
He wanted to protest, say that he saw her first, he loved her more.
But instead he turned away and headed home.