I stared up at him. “We’re in an elevator suspended in the sky. I think I’m allowed some dramatics.” I pinched my eyes shut, “And to think,” I muttered, clutching a handful of his shirt, “I skipped dessert. I should’ve eaten the mousse. If I’d known I was going to die in a steel box, I would’ve eaten it.”
“You’re worried about mousse?”
“I’m worried about dyingwithoutmousse.”
The emergency lighting blinked once, casting a warm red glow over us. It wasn’t bright, but it was enough to see the outline of his jaw and the faint shadow of stubble.
“Emergency lighting’s staying on this time.”
“Great,” I exhaled. “So we’ll be able to see when we fall.”
“We’re not falling.”
I gave him alook.
He sighed. “Alright. We might be here a bit before they get to us.”
My eyes widened. “You’re supposed to be reassuring me.”
“Part of reassuring you, is being honest.”
“That’s not honesty, that’s psychological sabotage.”
He smirked. “You’re breathing normally again.”
“I—what?”
“You grabbed me before you could panic. That’s progress.”
Oh God. My hand was still curled in his shirt, knuckles white. I blushed, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, his thumb brushed the side of my waist in a way that felt steadying.
“You’re doing better than you think. And theywillcome. We’re suspended on a primary line. This car isn’t going anywhere. Including downward.”
My shoulders loosened, just a fraction. “I still should’ve eaten the mousse.”
He looked back at me, there was something warm in his eyes.
“I’ll buy you dessert when we get out of here.”
My breath caught. “That’s a bold assumption.”
“Not really.” His gaze held mine, unshaken by the flickering red light. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
My pulse fluttered so hard it felt reckless. The moment I stopped talking, my brain spiralled to the worst possible conclusion.
“We’re still hanging in the air,” I whispered. The panic crept up again. I didn’t grab him this time. I forced myself down to the floor, back against the elevator wall.
“I ramble when I’m nervous,” I blurted. “Sorry. You’ll just have to survive it. If I stop talking, I start thinking, and thinking reminds me we’re suspended four thousand feet above the ground and…God, I hate storms.”
He watched me with that same calm, like none of this fazed him.
My day had already been a disaster. The ruined meeting. The traffic. The storm. The meltdown brewing in my chest long before the power went out. And now I was sitting on an elevator floor trying not to hyperventilate in front of a stranger who smelled amazing.
He didn’t crouch down next to me. He lowered himself to the opposite wall, stretched one leg out, leaning his head back against the metal wall. He was way too calm. It should be a crime. He was making me look like a drama queen. Really. He could have at least gasped loudly or something, other than reason.
That’s when I looked at him properly.
His throat was tattooed, black ink across his throat and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, revealing more tattoos that wrapped down his arms, over the back of his hands, even tracing along his fingers.
