Page 16 of What I'm Looking For

Who knows how many minutes later, he removes that hand that’s now my belly’s best friend. When I open my eyes, his are studying my legs.

“You got a little scraped up, huh?”

A gentle touch on my calf brings my attention to my pants, which are torn, revealing an abrasion on my knee. My arm throbs too, and I twist to check it out. It’s bleeding. “Huh.”

“Been drinking wine spritzers again?”

I try to laugh it off. “Uh… heh.” My brain seems to have relaxed as much as my body.

“Did you hit your head when you fell? What exactly happened?”

I can’t look at him and think straight at the same time so I pretend to inspect my capris for further damage. “Somebody ran into me?…” I press my fingers into my skull to try and wake it back up.

“Someone knocked you down? On purpose?”

“No, no. I was”—I mime the action with my hand until I find the word??—“throwing the juggling thingies to the clown. I guess when I stepped back, someone else was moving forward. Anyway, I stumbled into him and messed up his act and everything went flying, and then he was yelling at me and I maybe blacked out or something. Stupid.” I cover my face with my hands.

“Yeah. I know him. He’s not a bad guy, but he has some serious mood swings. He can be scary. Don’t be embarrassed.”

I talk to my palms. “You must think I’m such a freak. First the fake drinking and now this.”

“Well, you certainly give me some good stories to tell.”

I swat at him. “Hey, I thought the bar was like a confessional, no secrets revealed.”

“Well, I didn’t use your name. But I may have bragged about how my recipe saved a damsel in distress.”

“Well, thanks for saving me. Again.” It’s hard to keep the grumpiness out of my voice. I don’t like feeling helpless.

He stands and holds out a hand. When I take it, half reluctantly, he pulls so hard that I plow right into his chest. Where his lemony-woodsy scent invites me to stay. Even better, the look in his eyes has me wondering if he wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss him right now.

“Is this yours, miss?”

Yes, I believe he is.

“Miss?”

An older woman taps me on the shoulder and holds out my backpack, which I must’ve dropped during the juggler tango. “Oh my gosh. Yes. Thank you.”

The woman looks Will up and down. “You’re welcome. Sorry to interrupt.”

Aaand it’s back to reality. “Nothing to interrupt!”

I pretend to search for more detritus so I don’t have to face him, but there’s nothing. Not even a stray piece of trash to pick up. Then we both speak at the same time.

“Well, then?—”

“Did you?—”

He bows slightly. “You go ahead.”

“I should?…” I wave my hand at my scrapes.

He peers at my arm, and then into my eyes. “Wait. Wait right here. Don’t run away.”

“Uh, okay.” Just like at the bar, his voice has me pinned in place. All I can do is watch while he jogs toward a nearby deli. Moments later he’s back, and I honestly don’t think I moved a muscle.

He’s got a cup of ice between his teeth and dabs my scraped arm with a wet paper towel. I clamp down on the pain. I’m not going to cry in front of him too. Compassion in his eyes, he talks around the cup. “That okay?”

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