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Elevators are truly tiny boxes where strangers crowd inside and end up ridiculously close while pretending we are not close at all. Most of the time, it’s an easy task to achieve, but not always. Not today. I’m oddly hyper-aware of me and this man alone, the scent of his earthy cologne teasing my nostrils. He smells so darn good.
Too soon, the car halts, and a long way from our destination. Anticipating a new passenger, I am both hopeful and regretful that my alone time with this stranger will soon be over. And I’m right. A stunning blonde, the kind of bombshell my car partner belongs with, joins us and does so with a blast of insanely strong perfume. She reaches for the panel and impatiently punches the tenth floor.
Choking, I step backward, as far away from the woman and against the wall as I can manage, covering my hand with my mouth. I’m choking on fumes. My God, she smells like she poured my grandmother’s sharp, tangy perfume all over herself. I loved my grandma, but I broke out in hives when I was around her from that perfume. Lord, help me, I’m going to start coughing. Please let her get off soon. And please, don’t cough, I tell myself. Don’t cough.
I can feel the man watching me, but I don’t dare look at him. I swear if my body is reminded of the hot guy nearby, it will surely betray me and force the coughing spell. Finally, a lifetime later it feels like, the car halts and the doors open oh so slowly.
The perfume factory rushes out of the car, and while her cologne lingers, the intensity shrinks by half, and air from the corridor makes a slight welcome intrusion. The minute the doors shut again, I sink into the corner of the car and sigh, my hand falling from my face. Without intending to do so, I find myself staring into the amused eyes of the man who makes denim look as delicious as chocolate.
“I was dying,” I admit.
“Agreed,” he says. “Apparently she doesn’t know she could hold up a bank with that smell.”
I laugh. “No. No, she does not, but to her credit, neither did my grandmother. I’m fairly certain it’s the same perfume.”
He leans a shoulder on the elevator, his body fully facing mine now. “Did you tell your grandmother it was strong?”
I gape at him. “Are you kidding? Never. It would have hurt her feelings. Grandma was a very sensitive woman. If you hurt her feelings, she’d refuse to cook for you.”
He laughs, a low, deep baritone, and asks, “And that would be bad, I assume?”
“Oh yes. She made cookies during the holidays and shipped them to everyone in the family. I lived for that holiday box of goodies.”
The car halts again and he pushes off the wall.
My short encounter with this man is over, a stab of disappointment filling me. Only it’s not over. I eye the number board and the elevator is on eighteen, not twenty. The doors open and a huge group is waiting to enter. And enter they do. They file in like sardines lining up in a can, and to my surprise, the man, whose name I still don’t know, steps in closer to me. Really close, as there is no room in the car. Suddenly he’s right in front of me and someone shoves him forward. He catches himself on the wall above my head.
“Sorry about this,” he says softly, and I swear his eyes are warm with mischief. “I didn’t want to shove you into the wall. This seemed the best solution.”
He has, in fact, protected me from the crush of way too many people in one tiny elevator. “Thank you,” I say softly, wondering how he’d react if he knew this is the closest I’ve been to a man in just shy of two years. Or if I told him that he smells better up close than far away. Or if my hands accidentally on purpose settled on what appears to be an impressive chest? The temptation is real, but that would be highly inappropriate. He didn’t place himself in front of me to seduce me, but rather protect me after being shoved. I ball my fingers into my palms by my sides, forcing them to stay right where they are.
The car halts and someone screams out, “Why are we on twenty? We’re going down, people.”
“That’s us!” my hero stranger calls out, lifting one hand in the air. “We need off.”
“Off!” Someone else shouts. “Everyone off. Give them space.”
“Off!” Another shouts, “Off now.”
Bodies move out of our personal space and the stranger clears a path for me, motioning me forward. I hurry into the hallway, the group of people, all with badges on that seem to indicate they’re part of a business event, all around me. I find myself wanting to wait on the man, but several of the people from the elevator are between our exit now. They step aside just as a gorgeous blonde in a red dress and black heels grabs the stranger’s arm. It’s a familiar, intimate touch, not that of a business acquaintance. “Thank God, you’re here,” she gushes. “Let’s go get a drink. We’re both going to need one to talk about this contract.”
