Molly’s breath comes out in quick pants, her nails digging into my arm banding her to me.
I inhale deeply, the scent of her shampoo—strawberries and cream andfuuuck.
“You’re okay,” I hear myself say, my voice rough, deep, unrecognizable. The taste of strawberries on my tongue.
The lights flicker once, twice, then settle into the standard emergency lighting. For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then she seems to realize our position and pulls back, her face flushed. “Sorry, I—”
“It’s fine.” I drop my arm, stepping back to give her space before hitting the alarm button. I check my phone. 5:05 AM. No signal, because there’s never been a signal in this damn hunk of metal.
I glance over my shoulder as Molly leans against the back wall, her eyes closed, her hands shaking as she clutches her purse to her chest.
I ball my hands into fists in a lame attempt at curbing the desire to reach for her a second time. “You okay?”
“No—Yes. I mean…yeah,” she says, but her voice is tight. “Just not a fan of small spaces.”
She’s claustrophobic. Because I wasn’t feeling like enough of an ass already after yesterday.
“It’s not that small,” I say, which is stupid because it’s essentially a metal coffin. “The building’s only five stories. We’re stuck somewhere between one and two, I’d guess. Danny should notice the emergency call shortly. I’m sure he’ll be up within the hour.” He lives on the ground floor in an office-apartment combo.
Her eyes snap open. “An hour?”
“Someone else might notice sooner,” I add quickly, watching her sink deeper into the wall with a whimper. I need to distract her before she has a full-blown panic attack. “So, the bakery opens early on Saturdays?”
She blinks at me. “What?”
“I don’t usually see you around this early in the morning. Baker’s hours?”
“Oh, um, yeah. We open at six-thirty, but I like to get the ovens going early. Especially today. Valentine’s Day is…” she trails off, uncertainty flickering across her face.
“Busy,” I supply.
“Something like that.” She slides down to sit on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. “What about you? I didn’t know electricians work weekends.”
She knows what I do for a living? “Emergency call at the oceanside resort. Their whole system went down, they’re running on generators right now.”
“On Valentine’s Day? That’s rough.”
“Better than being here for Danny’s party.”
She lets out a small laugh. “They do get pretty excessive. I did help him set up a chocolate fountain yesterday.”
“Twenty bucks says there’s a karaoke machine.”
“Oh, there’s definitely karaoke. Love song dedication hour starts at nine.”
I sit across from her. She’s still got her arms wrapped around herself, but her breathing seems steadier.
“Why do you hate Valentine’s Day so much?” she asks quietly.
I tense, the question catching me off guard.
I take a deep breath. My minor guilt from last night has me willing to answer her question with the truth rather than a lame excuse. “A few years ago, I came home early from work to surprise my girlfriend for Valentine’s Day. Turns out she had a surprise for me, too. I found her in bed with another man. Been kind of hard to celebrate after that.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes shimmering even in the dull lighting.
I run a nervous hand through my hair. “Yeah, well. Ancient history.”
