Page 76 of Defended By Love

I pause just as I press down the elevator call button. It illuminates yellow as my mind mulls over my last thought. I’ve been so worried about Grant finally seeing the worst in me, that I haven’t considered the fact that maybe he sees the best.

Despite what I’ve been told and texted, there is good in me. I’ve worked hard to become the person that I am. There’s a lot in me to be proud of. There’s a lot of me that’s worthy of love.

I’m not some consolation prize for someone who can overlook my faults.

The dinging of the elevator brings me back into the present. I’m so dazed that I stand stupidly in front of the very center of the opening door as the occupant tries to exit. She’s holding an empty cupcake plate and half a dozen party decorations as she tries to sidestep me while I clearly block her.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

Finally, I take half a step to the side.

“Oh no, my bad,” I say because it was. Really, I’m not one for false apologies. I know, terrible Canadian, eh?

She offers me a half smile as an acceptance of my apology. My eyes catch on her face. She’s absolutely stunning, even strained with trying to amble around me while juggling all the decorations. But that’s not why I’m staring. If I’m not mistaken, she was the heroine on the last season of Date My Gardener. The one who got spectacularly rejected.

She flushes red and hangs her head so that her hair obscures her face as she turns away from me.

“Going up?” asks a man’s voice from behind me.

I jump at the sound. I had no idea someone was behind me.

It only takes a minute for me to gather my composure.

“Of course,” I say coolly and step into the elevator like I wasn’t staring at my supposed long-time coworker.

When I step into the elevator, the man follows uncomfortably close behind. Far too close for social norms. Dr. Debbie says that workplace interactions should all be held at arm’s length, with just enough space between to join for a firm handshake. This is not that.

His closeness pushes me to the back of the elevator, while still not giving me enough space to get a good look at him. All I know is that he is tall. He looms over my space, eclipsing my sense of freedom. Reaching behind, he pushes the button to close the elevator door. Then, he steps back without selecting his own destination.

“One would think that an employee would know by now that Candace doesn’t like it when people stare?”

As he continues to back out of the confines of my personal space, I see him for who he is: the tall, scarred man. Under his hat, a black fedora, he eyes me as he steps to the back of the elevator, daring me to make my move.

I nod, non-committal and uninterested. “One would think, wouldn’t they?” I say simply. The biggest mistake liars make is by expanding the lie. An open mouth puts more criminals away than any of the fancy, non-existent technology on crime TV shows ever could.

The tall man’s mouth twitches.

“Which floor?” He gestures to the elevator buttons.

The smart move would be to hit floor three or four and then get out of the building as soon as possible. Even if I play this with Oscar-worthy finesse, I’m still compromised. There’s no way he isn’t onto me.

That being said, safe is for people not stuck in a time loop.

I press the seventh-floor button. The panel glows an alarming red. Palming Grant’s keycard so that the picture isn’t visible, I push it up against the sensor box on the panel, all while maintaining eye contact with the freakiest pair of blue eyes I could ever imagine. The panel goes green and the elevator lurches upwards. Just like Grant said it would.

“Seventh floor?” he asks.

“Isn’t that what I pushed?” I counter.

I don’t move a muscle.

I don’t pull out my phone and scroll idly. I don’t fidget or whistle a jaunty tune. I sure as hell don’t speak.

And neither does he.

We wait in silence as the elevator hums with its ascent. Because of the awkward placement of the floors, the elevator ride takes much longer than a normal seven-floor ride.

With practiced patience, both of us wait it out with the stillness of ice in the heart of winter.

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