Page 11 of Chasing Amanda

Mark wasn’t sure if Amanda even realized when she dropped the butterfly knife. He scooped it up and held it out to her again, but she looked past him. Her face had paled to the color of day-old snow, making her eyes even bluer. He turned but saw nothing unusual.

“You okay?”

She blinked. “I don’t… I’m not sure.” Was she about to faint? He thought that only happened in the movies. He reached out, almost touched her, but the last time he’d done that, she’d jumped out of her skin.

“Let’s find someplace to sit.” There were no benches or chairs nearby. “When did you eat last?”

She shrugged. “Dinner, maybe?”

“Okay. Food. Should we go back to the bakery, or⁠—?”

“What? No! How do you…? I work there, so…”

“No problem. I don’t live here. Where should we go?”

It took a moment, but she seemed to get her bearings. “This way.” She turned down Weybosset, the street he’d been pacing for hours.

He stayed close, trying to think of something to say that would replace that terrified, confused look on her face. Nothing came to mind. When she stumbled on an edge of uneven pavement, he grabbed her arm and steadied her. At least she didn’t pull away this time.

He didn’t want to let go but forced his fingers to open, his hand to his side, and put more distance between them. That rush of protectiveness—that wasn’t like him.

Following a woman out of a bar, just in case, then searching a city for her.

None of this was like him.

Amanda was just a woman who’d needed his help. She couldn’t be anything more than that. Not that he wanted her to.

He’d had girlfriends, of course. One serious one, back in high school. A few in college, though nothing long-term. He wasn’t looking for long-term. His parents had shown him what that looked like, and he wanted nothing to do with it. Especially now. He was on his way to Afghanistan. There was no place in his life for a woman.

And why were his thoughts even meandering in that direction? She was a stranger, a college student. He didn’t even know her last name. He’d get her some food and be done with her.

She angled toward a sandwich shop, and he opened the door for her. Inside, he walked her to a table near the window.

She practically fell into a chair.

“What can I get you?”

She looked at the menu printed above the counter. “I’m not really hungry.”

“Turkey, ham, pastrami, Italian. Whatever. Pick something.”

“Turkey, I guess.”

“I’ll be right back.” The place was almost empty, the lunch crowd gone. Mark ordered a turkey grinder for Amanda, meatball for himself, two bags of chips, and two drinks. The guy behind the counter gave him a couple of cups, and Mark returned to Amanda. “What do you want to drink?”

She started to stand. “I can get it.”

“Just let me, okay? Coke?”

“Diet.”

“Right back.” He filled both cups, then grabbed their sandwiches and returned to the table.

Amanda was digging through her backpack. “Let me get you some money.”

“It’s on me.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Still digging through the bag.