She shouldn't have stared.
If she didn't then he wouldn't have caught her gaze and chosen to speak with her. But here he was, an Outsider, standing right in front of her, smiling right at her with a crooked smile, as his eyes studied her face, and words came from his lips in a form of a demand and then a question.
Her mind raced with thoughts and prayers as she opened her lips to respond to him.
Then he asked for her name and wondered why on earth he would when he clearly eyed the name tag above her left pocket. And so she says it, only to hear his eyes brighten and his smile widen.
He repeats her name to her, as if enjoying the way it rolled of his tongue. His gaze is a curious and hungry gaze, so intense her heart is beating fast, her palms sweaty, and a feeling of an undeniable attraction of energy courses between them like an invisible string promising that they will see each other once again and that this was not to be their only encounter.
As if ready her mind, he says her name once more and repeats his own. His name, she is certain, she will not forget, even as she watches him leave and his glances back at her once more his blue eyes promising that he'd see her again.
That night when Sally-Ann came home, she found herself dreaming of that encounter, remembering the tanned skin of a certain O'Farrel and his muscled frame, his long dirty blonde hair and those eyes. She found herself dreaming and wishing that she'd see him once again, although a voice in her mind told her that there was no dreams needed for what truth was to come.