The spark they’ve reignited in my day doesn’t last long, though, as I look down at the table. It’s one giant mess, and the worst part is, I have no progress to show for it.
Deciding it’s also time for me to leave, I tidy everything up, sling my backpack over my shoulder, grab myprecious notebook, and head for the door.
Thoughts of checking in on my favorite coffee shop owner and his wife vanish as I collide with a hard body. The gasp that follows is immediate, not from the force of the contact, but from the gush of scalding liquid that sears my skin.
My gaze drifts downward to look at the prickling site of pain.
Jeans ruined with a brown mark. White Converse that are no longer white. It’s a painful sight, but it doesn’t begin to compare to that of my lab notebook.
Pages fanned out for all to see.
Permanently stained.
Ink smudged.
All the work I’ve done is gone, blurred away like none of it mattered.
The chiming of bells snaps my head in the direction of the glass door just in time to catch a glimpse of the culprit. Fitted navy blue suit. White turtleneck. Those goddamn red-bottom shoes.
He’s walking out.
The man who ruined my notebook is walking out.
“Hey!” I yell, swiping the remains of my work off the floor and slipping past the narrowing gap of the coffee shop door. “Where do you think you’re going?”
The warm September air hits my already flushed cheeks, and if my blood wasn’t boiling from anger before, it might as well be now. That’s only made worse by the fact that the mystery man’s steps didn’t falter at the sound of my voice.
He heard me.
There’s no doubt about it.
And while this might be good old, busy, and loud New York City, where every pedestrian minds their own business, I’d made myself more than clear.
Unwavering determination courses through me as I charge after him, dodging people left and right. That signature burn quickly overtakes my legs, but I don’t quit.I can’t.Nothing is going to stop me from giving that man a piece of my mind. Not the pedestrians walking between us. And definitelynotmy lack of physical fitness.
A sharp pain shoots through my shoulder as it collides with another hard surface—the ache so strong it forces me to a halt. My chest heaves at the sudden influx of oxygen, and the soreness in my legs is evident as I try gathering enough strength to stand upright.
“Watch where you’re going!” an angry voice barks, a spritz ofsomethinglanding on the tip of my nose.
My eyes flick up to meet those of a man towering over me.
Six feet too tall. Probably on steroids. Sharp canines. Clenched fists. Flared nostrils.
I take a step back, fearing this may very well be the end of me.
“I’m really sorry.” I toss my hands up in surrender, not missing their obvious tremor.
The monster takes a large step forward, crossing the line of respectable acquaintance distance before growling.A swoosh of air blows the hair out of my face, and I’m scrambling away before my feet can catch up to my brain.
Down the street, a herd of well-dressed bodies eager to cross grabs my attention. But it’shewho stands out the most. Navy blue suit. Red soles. White turtleneck. It’s a horrible combination, but not as bad as seeing the crosswalk light flick on.
I push my legs to move harder, faster, despite the cramp in my foot, as they make their way across the street. And that urgency only heightens when the countdown starts.
Three.
You can make it, Vivienne.
Two.
