(B) She ignores the near-miss.

Her eyes flash white and for a moment she is blinded by the smooth plane of the disk. With a hard thud the Frisbee bounces off the wooden planks of the bench and lands inanimate in the grass at her feet. She snaps to with a start, and suddenly returned from whatever distant place she was previously scans her surroundings for the source of this invasion.

A mass of pink and white petals clouds her vision with a gust of southerly wind, and as the confettii swirls and falls she sees him emerge from the chaos. The fabric of his softly faded ringer tee stretches orange across his shoulders and chest, and as he trots toward the fallen Frisbee his step is airy, lifted by the warm spring breeze. He stoops before her to pick it up, and from this proximity she can see that the hems of his dark blue jeans are slightly frayed. A thin layer of perspiration glazes his forehead, making him seem as though he were glowing; illuminated from the inside.

Standing up somewhat stiffly, he smiles as he makes eye contact. His irises are warm and brown, speckled, she thinks, with flecks of gold. But at this distance who can say, and as the moment ends he turns and jogs back to his game. With a strong flick of his wrist he sends the disk soaring, spinning smooth and soundlessly through the crisp air. And its apex, a sharp and insistent yelp breaks the seamless perfection of the Frisbee's arc.

"Hey, Tom! Let's go. We need to be in Gaithersburg in an hour."

Smoothing the wrinkles in his clothes from this brief exertion he trots back from where he came, mere feet in front of the bench. He tosses a grin in her direction, almost flippantly, while he waits for his impatient friend to catch up. But in those few seconds while they are effectively alone, she notices for the first time that his hair is splattered with grey, and that a heavy scent of citrus perfumes the air. She is stirred, but unsure by what.

Does she:

(A) call out to him;

or

(B) continue sitting silently?