Page 15 of Running Into You
“I’m sorry!” she says into my chest. I look down to see her face red with embarrassment and her eyes filling with tears. I want to wipe them away, but that would mean letting go of her and I can’t do that right now. “I’m so sorry,” she whimpers again. My arms loosen and I lift one hand to her chin, gently tipping her face up to look at me. She is visibly shaken. I draw her back into my chest for a moment before releasing her. I can’t help letting my lips brush her chestnut hair before letting her go. I wait for the traffic lights to signal it’s safe to walk.
“We’re good now,” I say, gently placing my hand on the small of her back and leading her across the street. But Betty is not good. She’s pale and on the verge of tears. We walk in silence for a couple of blocks. I keep stealing glances at her, but she doesn’t seem to be getting better. In fact, she seems worse. Her breathing is shallow and quick, like she can’t get the air she needs into her lungs. Just when I think her eyes are ready to spill over, she rubs them with both hands like a sleepy toddler.
“Hey,” I say softly, trying to get her to look at me. She won’t. “Do you want to sit down for a minute? Catch your breath?” I motion to a nearby bench, but she keeps walking.
“I… I really have a headache,” she blurts out. “I need to go home and lie down.” I stare at her, willing her to meet my eyes, but she won’t. I decide that the best thing I can do is get her home safely.
“Of course, Betts.” We’re not far from the apartment and we walk in silence. She shivers despite the day being relatively mild. We’re walking fast enough that our breathing is a bit labored. Arriving at our building, she takes the stairs two at a time, which is impressive for a woman of her stature.
“I’m sorry again,” she mumbles apologetically. She’s still not looking at me as she opens her door. I surprise her by following her inside before she can shut the door in my face. I’m not leaving her like this. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to get you some ibuprofen.” I say from the kitchen, looking through her cupboards until I find the bottle of pills. I run the cold water for a minute before filling up a glass.
“I can take care of myself.” I hear her say from the other room. I bring her the pills and water, and any doubt that she’s having a panic attack leaves me. Her brow is shiny with perspiration. Her hands tremble even as she clutches a pillow to her chest. Her breath is ragged, and I can actually see her pulse jumping in her neck.
“Of course you can,” I say calmly as I crouch down and position one arm on either side of her on the couch. Our faces inches apart, and my eyes search hers. “Doesn’t mean you always have to.” I lean forward slowly, raising myself just enough so my lips press against the smooth patch above the bridge of her nose. Her skin is cool and damp, and I can feel the tremors running through her.
When I pull away, her eyes won’t meet mine. As much as I want to stay, she clearly wants to be left alone. At least I know that she’s home safely and that she’s going to be okay. I straighten and walk backward to the door, never taking my eyes off of her.
“I’ll check on you later?” I ask quietly. She stares up at me with those giant green eyes and nods weakly. I smile reassuringly at her and let myself out of her apartment.
Chapter 9
Betty
“These are cute, but oh my stars—$40?” Maggie’s outrage at the cost of a pair of polymer clay earrings draws looks from those nearby. The craft fair is in full swing around us, with Etsy sellers and local artisans hoping to cash in on wealthy down-towners and late-season tourists.
“I thought only little old southern ladies said ‘Oh my stars.’”
“I’m trying to swear less,” she admits. “Mark doesn’t like it when I swear.” Of course, he fucking doesn’t. I open my mouth to bash him, but the look on her face is so miserable, I retreat. She took me at my word when I told her I didn’t want to discuss my day with Josh, and I decided to offer her the same grace in return. I will put my thoughts on this matter away for another time. I do, however, make a mental note to work every dirty word I know into my next miserable conversation with Mark.
I’m still recovering from yesterday’s humiliation. Not only did I have a panic attack, but I had it in front of Josh. I feel like such an idiot and while I’ve calmed down outwardly, my inner mean girl has been talking shit to me nonstop. I hear my mother’s voice telling me I’m being dramatic as usual. I can’t forget the look of concern on Josh’s face when he was trying to take care of me. For a minute, I thought he might actually kiss me. Pretty sure I’ve ruined any chance of that ever happening.
Maggie and I have made it through most of the craft fair, with minimal conversation… I sip my $6 latte; she drinks her green tea. Craft fairs aren’t really my thing. I always end up feeling bad for people whose tables don’t get a lot of traffic, so I go out of my way to compliment their craftmanship and tell them their work is beautiful. Right now, I’m admiring a gorgeous $300 hand-crafted charcuterie board. The olive wood is parted in the middle with a turquoise wave made from several layers of resin. I want to give it a place of honor on a wall in my apartment, not chop vegetables on it.
“So lovely,” I tell the man behind the booth. He puffs his chest and gives me a grateful smile. Maggie and I leave with empty hands and even emptier stomachs, so we decide to stop for lunch. We head to Natalia’s, a lovely little bakery that serves soup and sandwiches from eleven to two.
Natalia herself greets us from behind the counter, momentarily ignoring the handful of customers in line for food. She points to a table in the corner with a “reserved” place card on it and motions for us to take it. Maggie places one hand on her heart and uses the other to blow her a kiss. She had all but cured Natalia’s rosacea and our host could not have been more grateful.
The food, as always, is to die for. My pear and brie sandwich on ciabatta is the perfect balance of comfort and decadence. Maggie fills me in on the novel she’s reading. She is an avid reader but is constantly being drawn into devastating historical fiction where lovers die pining for each other, and no one gets their happily ever after. Being overly empathetic by nature, these books take a particular toll on her.
“I just don’t know what to do.” She sniffs, her eyes tearing up as she fills me in on her current read. “I’ve got two hundred pages to go, but I don’t know if I can finish it. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but the little girl who works in the factory dies, Betty! The factory blows up and she dies!”
“You could take a break from this one?” I lay my hand on hers. “Maybe read something lighter?” A shadow falls over the table and I look up, expecting Natalia but instead find Josh.
“Hey, you. I was out for a walk and decided to grab a bite. Funny running into you here.” His smile momentarily takes my breath away. “How’s the head?”
Not working at the moment. He looks like he just emerged from a men’s sportswear catalog in his joggers and long-sleeve T-shirt, which I can’t help but notice he is expertly filling out.
“Much better,” I manage to blurt out. “Thanks for asking.” Maggie shifts in her seat across from me and I see that I am now gripping her wrist. “This is my Maggie. My friend, Maggie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Maggie.” He smiles warmly at her, and she flushes with apparent pleasure. She’s a red-blooded woman and would have to be dead inside not to notice how gorgeous he is.
“I’ve heard so much about you!” she gushes. Josh’s eyebrows raise and I give her wrist one last warning squeeze before letting her go.
“Is that so?” Josh’s gaze flickers back to me for a moment before turning his attention back to Maggie. “I hope it was complimentary because anything else is just lies and slander.”
“Trust me, the horns are there,” I say directly to Maggie, ignoring him. “He wears his hair all fluffy to hide them.”
