Page 4 of Found By Him

In my peripheral vision, I spot her eyes still on me. I like the feel of them way too much. After a few moments, to my disappointment, she turns to look out the window.

Being confined in the car with her is making my mind fuzzy. Her scent assaults me. Sweet. Floral. It’s turning me on more than I want to admit.

Ten long minutes later, I park next to the curb on a side street outside her building. I pull as close to the entrance as I can, then turn to her to find her peering at me with onehand on the door handle, as if she is ready to bolt. Picking up my phone from where I threw it in the cupholder, I extend it to her. “Please put in your number, Gisella.”

After pausing for a moment, she grabs my phone. “It’s Ella,” she says as she types in her number.

Once she hands my phone back, I quickly send a text, and we hear the vibration of the notification after a few seconds. She pushes the door open and climbs out when I do. I circle the vehicle and grab the bags from the backseat, switching hands when she reaches for them so they’re on the side farthest from her. My hand automatically goes to her lower back again as I move her to the inside of the sidewalk so that I’m closest to the street. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Sighing loudly, Gisella doesn’t argue as we walk the short distance. When we’ve reached the door leading into her building, she reaches for her bags, and I allow her to take them. As she lifts them, she winces. I narrow my eyes at her. “The cops said you told them you weren’t hurt. Was that incorrect?”

She shakes her head and gives me a small smile. “It’s just a twinge in my back. It’s nothing. I promise.”

For some inexplicable reason, I don’t want to leave her. What if she’s seriously hurt? What if she doesn’t have anyone to take care of her?

Before I can overthink too much, my phone vibrates in my pocket, reminding me of my responsibilities. I can’t stay to take care of her, not that she would allow me to. “Text me if it gets any worse. That’s not a request.” I take one more second to study her. “Go inside and get some rest, Gisella.”

I smile as I hear, “It’s Ella.” The words float into the humid evening air, just before the click of the door shutting behind her.

Even the frustration in her tone sounds sweet.

3

Ella

Isink into my couch, careful not to spill my coffee. I’m still in my pajamas since it’s only seven. When I woke up thirty minutes ago, I stayed in bed, unsuccessfully trying to will myself to go back to sleep to finish my dream about Jack.

That’s his name. He texted it to me.

This is Jack Sanders. Save my number.

When Jack arrived at the accident, I was uncharacteristically mad and protective when I thought he might be mean to Tyler. Even in the short time I got to talk to him, I instantly liked Tyler. He was so endearing, exactly what I would have wanted in a little brother if I had one. But regardless of my initial thoughts, there was no denying my instant attraction to Jack. His intense and domineering aura called to me in a way that made my nerve endings tingle athis nearness. When his hand went to my lower back, I thought I might combust.

My annoyance at him faded further when he said he wasn’t going to fire Tyler and that they were related. He had a caring tone in his voice that I found sweet. Then he made sure I got home and questioned me about my back with deep concern… It all made me feel something I haven’t in a long time.

And now, he said he was going to bring me a car. My stomach dips when I think about seeing him again. It’s Saturday, so I wonder if he will dress casually or in a suit again. I’m embarrassed to admit, even to myself, how excited I am.

It would be a very long shot that a guy that good looking would be interested in me. He looks like the kind of man who likes tall, lithe, supermodel types. Or maybe young, short, skinny, peppy girls instead. But not a practically middle-aged, uncontrollably curvy woman.

Not that I mind my curves. After years of being told I would be so much prettier if I lost weight and letting that consume me, I finally realized it wasn’t worth the toll it took on my mental health to try to be the weight others thought I should be.

I still work out. I walk, and I try to eat healthy. But I accepted what I look like long ago—one perk of being a little older. You’ve already worked through all the bullshit society puts on you during your younger years, and you can reap the reward of learning the hard way and becoming a better version of yourself.

While I may have accepted all that I am, I recognize that some men still have preferences for women smaller than me. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it does make me a littlebummed because I would bet Jack is one of them. I glance down at my phone next to me on the couch. Not that I expect to have a text from him, but regardless, I’m oddly disappointed there’re no new messages. Noticing it’s nearing eight, I decide to go for a walk and then get ready so I can, at the very least, look cute when Jack arrives. Sighing, I push myself up, down the rest of my coffee, and go to put on some yoga pants and a tank top.

Almost two hours later,I’m ready and making another cup of coffee when my phone vibrates from the coffee table.

Two minutes to ten. He’s prompt, at least.

Jack: I’m downstairs. Same place I dropped you off.

Me: Be right down!

I cringe a little at the exclamation point, but shrug it off as I head downstairs. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I step outside. I glance at the spot Jack parked the night before and almost trip when I see him. He’s leaning against a matte-black Mercedes G-Wagon, dressed in dark jeans and a faded New York Mets t-shirt. The shirt is loose around his waist, but the way it hugs his chest and biceps almost makes me drool. Tattoos swirl around his right arm, ending in a blunt line around his wrist. The other arm is devoid of ink.

“Hi.” I internally kick myself for my lame greeting as his eyes track my approach.

He smirks. “Hi.”

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