It's your smile, the one you got when you walked in and saw me; the sneaky half one, as if you knew that I'd been waiting to see you. What could I do but smile back?
It's your stopping by just to say hello; you might have been leaving, and I might have been hoping for it, and you stopped as if you knew. What could I do but let my hands shake?
It's your knowing that I would do the same; I might not have needed to stop, but I did, and you laughed at my lame joke as if you knew that I was hoping you would. What could I do but be self depreciating?
What could I do but come back again, though I knew it would look suspicious, just because I knew it was the last chance I would get for a while. What can I do but feel that this isn't going to go anywhere?