A smile, a wink, the occasional light hearted comment about the weather or work.
It was nice, really nice, and I began to look forward to seeing him striding down the corridor towards me, smiling, confident.
I would quickly pat my hair or adjust my clothes, sit up straight, smile, make eye contact at the same time as him.
After a while, he would come bearing small gifts. A coffee, a sticky bun from the tea trolley, a flower from his garden, and like some inexperienced schoolgirl, I would accept them, blushing and flustered.
If one day he didn't appear, I couldn't concentrate on work, I was constantly glancing along that corridor for any small sign of him, and if by midday he hadn't paid me a visit, my lunch would be a miserable hour spent in the park alone, sandwiches thrown to the ducks.
It was during one of these achingly empty lunch breaks that I realised I had been bitten by the affair of the heart bug.
What would happen next?
