“Yes.” I nodded way too enthusiastically. Judging by Marshall’s empty hands, he was likely going out to eat, so I quickly added. “I forgot to bring mine.” I silently apologized to the almond butter and marionberry jam sandwich on my dad’s sourdough bread in my bag. “Where were you thinking? If you don’t want to eat alone, maybe we could go together?”
“My plan was a salad and soup at Sandwich Shack.” Marshall paused as if silently considering his options for politely declining my self-invite, but surprisingly, he gave the barest of nods as the elevator arrived. “They usually have adequate seating. And their kale-and-carrot slaw is special.”
“Sounds great,” I said as he pressed the button for the ground floor and the elevator doors slid shut with a creak. Anothersmall, teeny lie. I was not big on most vegetables, kale definitely included. But I’d been big on Marshall since he first walked into our offices.
I’d been attracted to those big brown eyes and long piano-player fingers. I’d gone from lust to smitten as soon as I’d learned via Tennessee that Marshall was single after breaking up with his law-school boyfriend. Single, hot, and dated men? In a small town where almost everyone over twenty-five seemed already coupled up, Marshall felt like a potential jackpot win. “I’m in.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged. The statement might reveal irritation from someone else, but Marshall didn’t sound put out. Further, his usual preference for clarity and literal statements meant I could take him at face value. If I felt like braving kale salad with him, he wouldn’t stop me. Another win.
We’d dined together several times as part of a bigger group, but after six months of trying, this would be our first lunch together just us. Which was the only explanation for why I let myself give him a more appreciative glance than I might have at the office. “And speaking of suits, yours is certainly on point today.”
“Thank you. I’ll tell my mother. She sent me to her executive shopper.” Tone even more tightly formal than usual, he frowned, glancing around the small space. “Is this thing moving?”
Right as he asked the question, the motor hummed and the elevator jolted downward.
“There we go.” Not to be deterred, I kept my voice cheerful. “If you’re looking for another occasion to wear your new suit, I have tickets to the annual hospital auxiliary fundraiser. It’s a 1930s dinner party theme this year with a silent auction and big band music.”
There. I’d only been working on that particular sentence all week, the latest in a line of possible date ideas for Marshall.
“Are you asking me out?” he asked, frown deepening.
I readied my “we could go as friends” fallback, but as I opened my mouth, a loud crack sounded. The elevator slammed to a stop, and the lights went out.
And we both said the same four-letter word. “Fuck.”
Chapter Two
Marshall
“Okay, no one panic.” Rory’s voice had the smallest of wobbles to it. The elevator went from pitch black to dim light as a strip of emergency lights flickered on, illuminating the buttons on the operating panel.
“I’m not panicking,” I lied as I smashed the red emergency call button. I hated elevators, always had, and I’d only taken this one because I was so hungry for lunch that it seemed more expedient.Seemedbeing the operative word.
“Simpson Elevator Monitoring service.” A female voice crackled over the speaker. “This is Sonya. What’s the nature of your emergency?”
“The elevator stopped.” I hit the Down, Up, Door Open, and other buttons. Nothing. “The emergency lights are on, but none of the buttons are doing anything.”
“I’m paging maintenance right now. Please remain calm.” Sonya had a well-practiced, reassuring tone that did absolutely nothing to lower my anxiety.
“We’re trying.” Rory, however, was chipper as ever. He was somewhere between my age of twenty-six and his early thirties,with a riot of curly red hair, pale skin dotted with hundreds of freckles, and perpetually sparkling blue eyes. He had the sort of elfin features that meant he’d likely still pass for twenty-five at fifty, even if his short and stocky build was more dad bod than twink.
“Maintenance reports a building-level power outage they’re working to resolve.” Sonya’s voice crackled over the speaker again. “Please be patient.”
“I don’t want to be patient,” I snapped, exhaling hard. “I just want my lunch.”
“Hey. We’ll get out of here. Promise.” Rory touched my arm, a light tap on the slick fabric of my suit jacket. Like most of the office, he was a hugger, the sort of touchy-feely person I always felt a bit out of step with. But he also had one of the kindest voices. “And Sandwich Shack is open late. Not like that breakfast diner near the pizza place that closes at two, which is a shame because breakfast is good all day. Don’t you think? That’s why I like Honey’s. They’re open twenty-four hours.”
“Rory?” My own voice came out pained. Usually, I could listen to him for hours. Sometimes I left my office door open, the sounds from the reception area a pleasing background hum as I worked. Right now, though, I didn’t have the extra brain power to process his inventory of varied restaurant hours. “You’re rambling.”
“Oh.” Rory blushed, a dusky flush I could see even in this dim lighting. “Sorry. Guess maybe I am a touch nervous. I’ve been in tons of elevators and never had this happen. Have you?”
“No. I usually take the stairs.” I didn’t bother with elevators for anything under five or so stories, which ruled out most buildings in Oregon. Traveling, I sometimes had no choice, but I always tensed as soon as the doors closed.
“Ah. Not a fan, I take it.” He tossed his messenger bag to the ground before settling beside it.
“What are you doing now?” I asked, even though it was rather apparent.
“Getting comfortable.” Rory shrugged as if this were no more inconvenient than a wait at the doctor’s office. “We might be here awhile.”
