It was 7:00am on a hot, sunny Monday in New York. Ethan was drowning his sleepiness in black coffee and the New York Times, lounging on the patio of his favorite cafe in Manhattan. The sun had risen brightly over the tall buildings and directly into Ethan's face.
Squinting his eyes, he held his watch up to check the time. It was now 7:30. He finished the last bit of his coffee and tossed it into the waste basket on his right. Reluctantly, he pulled himself up, tucking the paper under his arm and headed towards the subway. The train was sure to be crowded as is customary this time of day. He hurried into the station, sliding his MetroCard through the slot, rushing to catch the "F" Train to Wall Street. The people piled in behind him and he quickly slid into the last remaining seat.
The train jerked to a start and plummeted down the track. He slowly opened up the paper to the finance section, finally he was able to see well enough to check the day's stock quotes. He was just folding the paper back up when he felt a thud at his feet. He looked down to see a pink, satin ballet slipper on the ground, the ribbons fanning out over his wingtips.
He turned his glance a little to the right to see a pair of perfectly turned out feet beside his. His gaze drifted up the long, languid legs and past the line of her hip. His gaze continued up to discover a long, thick mane of copper hair.
"Excuse me, Miss?" He asked nervously.
She turned around to reveal the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Her emerald green eyes flashed as they met his steel grey-eyed gaze.
"Yes?" she replied coolly.
"Is this your shoe?"
"Oh, yes, thank you! I must have dropped it."
She gracefully bent over and picked it up as Ethan tried to keep from staring down her tight tank top. She slid the shoe into her bag and zipped it securely.
The train screeched to a halt and passengers got up and filed out at the first stop. Ethan motioned for her to be seated in the newly available seat to his left. She lowered herself down smoothly and opened up her bag, pulling out hairpins and a brush.
"I'm Ethan," he said warmly and extended his hand.
"Grace," she answered back with a smile.
"That's appropriate for you." he answered back.
There was no reply from Grace, as she was piling her hair into a thick bun at the base of her neck. Ethan noticed on her bag was embroidered with "New York Urban Dance Center". She stood quickly as the train jerked to a stop. She turned to look down at Ethan. "I saw you staring at my ass. Call me." she said with a wink, handing him her number.