She was definitely not lurking. She wasn't even lingering or loitering.

She was definitely sincerely interested in a shelf of graphic novels and definitely sincerely perusing them for the sake of enjoying the art, and not at all because it was the shelf most immediately accessible to the little display of local histories and biographies on which the bookstore curator had - and what a leap of excitement in her throat when she had walked in a half hour ago and seen it - placed, among many others, a printed-out photo of Clover's grandmother: black and white, theatrical lighting, mid scream with hands raised. Beautiful and compelling and vulnerable but tough, as a scream queen ought to be.

She was also definitely not keeping half an eye casually on that display, desperately waiting for someone - employee, customer, anyone - to walk up and notice that photo so that she could forcibly insert her own presence into their day. Which is why she definitely did not feel a little leap of happy expectation for the second time that day when she saw someone approaching - or saw their feet, since she was nominally looking at a few panels of a boring fight scene - who might even be slowing down to pause and examine.

Very casually, Clover half-turned where she was standing, blowing a chewing gum bubble and turning the page as though she were utterly absorbed, lifting her eyes just enough to be ready to pounce in a nonchalant movement, as if her attention had only been slightly drawn by the movement nearby of someone she ought to politely acknowledge, if they got close enough.

Definitely not planning this.