She searches the crowd even when she's distracted, eyes roaming over people looking for a certain set of brown eyes or a shock of rumpled brown hair. Every tall, thin man in a suit gets a second look. She can feel the anxiety from being stranded her building in the pit of her stomach. It's not until she catches a glimpse of hair that's just about right along with a brown pen striped suit that she begins to think it's not anxiety.

She falls into step behind him, watching to make sure. She's stopped too many strange men to count and it always earns her a look that asks if she's crazy or worse an invitation for a drink. Long ago she memorized the way he walks, the stoop of his shoulders and the curve of the back of his neck. He's wearing trainers with his suit and that's unusual for anyone but him. Finally when she's almost certain she reaches out to touch his shoulder.

"S'cuse me."

Just in case she's wrong. Best not to act like she's gone barmy just yet.