Page 12 of Hearts Held

She proceeds to one of the small round tables with a dim table lamp, then slowly sits within the chair. It makes a low creaking sound as she tries to get comfortable and attempts to control her breathing. I can hear it.

One slow controlled inhale, another slow controlledexhale.

She isn’t trying to breathe through a drunken haze.

She’s having a panic attack.

I wonder what set her off?

She outstretches her arms and rests her forehead atop the table with a large exhale. I wonder what she will think when she realizes she isn’t alone.

I cease the readiness of my blade, then silently, carefully, I get up and walk toward her, the shadows keeping me hidden.

When I am within range, I tip my upper body to where her glass sits in her outstretched hands. With my keen sense of smell, I recognize her glass isn’t filled with vodka, but water and the remnants of old whiskey.

I straighten my spine, studying her from the dark.

She is still trying to control her breathing. I haven’t seen her in the pub or around town before.

Her hands are working hands; the nails are cut short, kept clean. Her attire is conservative, not flashy, charming or seductive like that of some of the women around town.

She doesn’t appear to be wearing much makeup either.

My conclusion—she didn’t want to come here.

Now I’m intrigued. I place my hands in my pockets, hoping to look nonthreatening.

Preparing for her startle, I cock my head to the side and open the dark with the light of my voice. “Why, pray tell, is a woman likeyousitting here?”

Her eyes go wide as she makes a tiny, cute gasp. Her lips are slightly parted and I notice the bow to her top lip.

Why am I so intrigued by her? This is annoying, yet entertaining both sectors of my mind.

She fumbles for words, “I’m s-so sorry, I didn’t think anyone was up here and I needed some air. You see, it’s raining outside and I couldn’t go there and I…” She trails off but I stop listening as she over explains.

Instead, my mind is enraptured by the panic in her beautiful, familiar emerald eyes. The small movements of her slender, tender hands. The way her lips arrange around vowels.

Something is seriously wrong with me and…I might like it.

For the first time in a very, very, very long time, there is an unspecified feeling ignited withinmy soul.

She’s continued to ramble and overexplain, so I calmly ask, “May I sit down?”

Her words cease as she looks up at me and makes a nod.

“Again, I can leave, I didn’t know anyone was up here, I am so sorry.”

I make a subtle wave of my hand. “No, it’s all right. I came up here to escape the noise. What’s your name?” I pull the chair around so I’m straddling either side with my legs.

Her throat bobs as she takes a gulp. I’m really making her feel uneasy.

“My name is Brielle.” She pulls her arms toward herself then takes another drink of her water as she watches me through long, thick eyelashes.

I rest my arms atop the back of the chair, leaning into her atmosphere and ask, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here, are you new to Lockham?”

She takes another drink as I follow the movement of her throat. A small trickle of water has escaped and is running down the side of her cheek. I become slightly jealous of the back of her hand before she swipes it away.

“I’m sorry, I don’t get out much—I work a lot. Mainly I am a nurse at the hospital. Then I work in the flour factory and then the funeral home. Been here for almost a year now. I just do a lot and don’t have much time for personal pleasures.” She appears to be relaxing into the chair, hopefully realizing I am not pursuing other intentions.