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The cream wool scarf I’m wearing feels uncomfortably scratchy, and hot. Boiling in fact. It’s similar to one that my mom always wore in winter when I was a little girl and although it’s not the same, it still makes me feel closer to her. I give it a quick rub to bring me some much-needed comfort.
“So where should you be exactly, Ms. Murphy?” The host pushes his thin gold-rimmed spectacles up his nose, making me feel like I’m back in fourth grade.
“Making Team Building Fun. Hall eight,” I inform him.
His eyebrows rise in amusement. “Wrong room and wrong floor. Maybe you should consider a visit to the optometrist, Ms. Murphy,” he replies sarcastically, making everyone chuckle.
Great, just great.
“Noted.” I nod in agreement, not wanting to annoy him any further. “I’m sorry I disrupted the seminar.” My voice is soft and polite as I back away and head in the direction of the door.
He resumes his introduction to the day in his monotone delivery.
Phew, thank goodness I’m not an archeologist. His droning voice might cause me to become extinct; he’d bore me to death.
In haste, I turn the brass handle and then fling the door open, desperate to get out of there. It takes me by surprise when it hits something solid, like a wall of bricks.
A loud humf followed by a muffled motherfucker instantly sends me into panic mode. Oh shit, I must have hit someone.
I step out into the corridor and slam the door closed behind me, to reveal a bent at the waist figure who is clutching their face with their hand.
It’s a guy. And he’s huge, which means he’s probably security, or a bouncer, or plays football or something equally as bodybuilder like and I just smashed his nose to pieces.
Oh no.
CHAPTER TWO
Lily
I gasp in horror and rush to him. “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I reach out to touch his shoulder; his big broad shoulder. This guy is massive. “I was in the wrong seminar hall, and in a hurry. I’m not having a good day. I’m on the wrong floor, and I’m not even sure if I should be here,” I ramble, and can’t stop. “I should be in New York, but my mom died, so I’m now living in Edmonton, and I’m lost.” In so many ways, without my beautiful mom. “…and, and…” Oh no. I feel like I might cry. Again.
I can’t cry. Not now, and I’ve shed too many tears these past eight weeks.
No, no, no.
I inhale air through my nose, desperately trying to stall the unshed tears.
Dropping my bag to the floor, I cover my face with my hands and tilt my head back to hide the wave of grief. It’s something I can’t control. I’m not sure I ever will be able to.
Dabbing the pads of my fingers into the corners of my eyes to catch any tears before they fall, I quickly compose myself, remembering what my dad told me. How you feel today won’t feel the same as yesterday, or tomorrow, or the next day after that, but with time, your heart will feel lighter, the sun will shine brighter and when it does, know that she’s shining down on you.
Despite how positive my dad’s words are, I know he’s trying to keep it together for me and my sister. I see the pain in his eyes, making him look older than I remember.
I suck in a deep breath and bow my head, and that’s when I notice droplets of blood scattered across the polished gray floor.
“You’re bleeding,” I squeal, unwrapping my cream scarf from around my neck. “Here, please use this.” I offer him my keepsake accessory, to use as if it were an old rag to stop the bleeding.
Head down, he mutters from behind his hands, “What the hell were you doing? These doors open out into the corridor, not in. You stupid…” He stops mid-sentence when he lifts his head and looks at me.
Like a bolt of lightning, his piercing blue gaze hits me first. It hot-wires something deep in my chest, sparking a quick pulsing sensation that’s new and welcomed. His dark hair hits me next. It’s cut short around the sides and is a bit longer on top. He’s gorgeous. And dark. Intense.
His eyes crinkle around the edges as he narrows them, seemingly amused at my inspection of him and checking me out in return. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself, remaining silent.
Protecting his nose with one hand, a black backpack slips off his other shoulder and hits the floor with a loud thud as he stands to his full height of around six-foot-three, forcing me to crane my neck to look up at him from my five-foot-four frame. I’ve never felt so small standing next to someone.
Mesmerized, I offer him my scarf again. “Take this to stop the bleeding,” I say timidly.
He takes it from me with his clean hand and lifts it toward his nose. Never breaking eye contact with me, he holds it under his bloody nostrils with his gigantic bear-sized hand and then says the most unexpected words. “Smells good.” He doesn’t use it to catch the blood that’s slowly running down his top lip and into his mouth, as I had expected him to. Instead, he holds it close to his chest as if I just handed him a heartfelt gift.
