4. The Man Who Stole My Breath
1378 Words
Molly
If sadness has a taste, it is exactly the combination I am holding right now. A family-size bag of sour cream chips, two chocolate bars, and a bottle of strawberry soda. My holy trinity of emotional damage recovery. I walk the convenience store aisle like a heartbroken raccoon stocking up for hibernation while Snow trots beside me on tiny legs.
I reach for another soda when something prickles at the back of my neck. You know that heavy stare that makes you want to turn and glare? That one.
From the corner of my eye I catch a tall figure at the end of the aisle. Broad shoulders. Very broad. A black shirt stretched over muscles that clearly do not know the meaning of carbs. Great. Just what I need. A handsome man witnessing my emotional meltdown snack haul.
Why is he still looking?
Snow suddenly freezes. Her little head snaps up, then she lets out a sharp, piercing bark.
“Snow, no,” I whisper.
Too late. She charges.
“SNOW! Come back here right now,” I hiss, hurrying after her.
She stops right at the man’s feet and goes feral. Barking. Growling. Yapping like he owes her money.
Mortification. Complete and total mortification.
I grab her up without thinking. “Snow! Stop it. You don’t bark at strangers here. Where are your manners?” I scold, cheeks burning. “I am so sorry. She usually…”
I trail off because my brain short-circuits.
He smells like a full-blown sin. Woody. Clean. Spicy with a warm smoke and oud undercurrent. The scent hits me and my knees go suspiciously soft.
He is tall. Easily six foot three. Hair black and tied in a bun. Clean stubble on a jaw that looks professionally carved. And his eyes are gray. Proper storm-gray.
Hi,” he says. His voice is deep and rich. He sounds way too calm for someone who just survived an attack from a six-pound Chihuahua.
“Hi,” I reply, trying very hard not to drop dead on the spot.
“I’m Charles,” he says.
Oh, cool. We’re introducing ourselves. To strangers. In a convenience store. While I’m holding chips, chocolate, and a dog with anger issues.
“Molly,” I manage.
His eyes warm. “Nice to meet you.”
Snow wiggles in my arm and I tighten my hold. No. Stop it. You are not ruining this, Snow.
He chuckles quietly. “She’s… spirited.”
“That’s one word. I prefer ‘demonic lawn rat,’ with this one here.”
His smile widens and my heart does a weird somersault. I tell myself to calm down. I really do.
He looks at the junk food in my hands and tilts his head. “Rough morning?”
I lift a brow. “Wow, okay, calling me out immediately.” I sigh. “But yes. It has been an emotional circus.”
He studies my face with a soft expression. “Breakup?”
I blink at him. “How did you know?”
He gestures lightly at the mountain of sugar in my arms. “That is the official food pyramid of heartbreak.”
I let out a dramatic exhale. “Some people drink alcohol when life falls apart. I drown mine in sugar and future regret.” I pause and glare at myself. “Why did I say that out loud?”
He laughs. It is a deep, warm sound that slides down my spine and settles somewhere completely inappropriate.
Oh no. Oh no. Absolutely not.
We end up talking. Somehow. Because this man has the audacity to be interesting.
We both love hiking and dogs. We both hate anything coconut. We both agree that Christmas is stressful and overrated. I swear something sparks in his eyes at that part.
“This is weirdly comforting,” I say while shifting the chips. “Usually the handsome ones are obsessed with Christmas joy and peppermint lattes.”
His head tilts slightly. “You think I’m handsome?”
I choke on pure air. “I said usually. Not specifically…. Not that I... Okay, wow, I am shutting up now.”
His lips twitch and he looks way too entertained by my humiliation.
I shift my things again to regain a shred of dignity, but the universe hates me because the soda slides out of my grip.
“No, no, no.”
He moves so fast I swear time pauses. One step. One clean catch. Like a human superhero in a grocery aisle.
He hands the bottle back to me and our fingers touch. A jolt snaps straight up my arm. Warm. Electric. Sinful.
His eyes lift to mine slowly. Everything else in the world fades.
Oh God.
I blink quickly. “Okay, wow. Um. Thanks.”
His voice softens. “You okay?”
No. Completely not. “Yep,” I squeak. “Great. Totally fine.”
He studies me longer than any sane person should. His gaze drifts from my eyes to my mouth before he clears his throat. “Good.”
I swallow hard. I need to leave before I turn into a puddle and Snow has to drag my useless body out by my dress.
“Well, um… nice meeting you,” I say while taking a careful step back. I paste on a smile. “Have a good morning. Or night. Or… whatever time it is. I honestly don’t know anymore.”
He gives me that slow, warm smile that should be illegal. “You too, Molly.”
I turn quickly, my cheeks on fire and my heart doing full acrobatics. I walk away fast, almost tripping over my own dignity.
No. Nope. Absolutely not. I am not catching a crush today. I refuse. Even if my heart just performed a suspicious little flip. Even if my fingers are still tingling. Even if he smells like temptation coated in spice.
Nope. I am going to that cabin. I am eating my depression snacks. And I am forgetting the ridiculously handsome man who caught my soda like some kind of sexy ninja.
But why did he not ask for my number though? It is not like I wanted him to, but there is this annoying pinch of disappointment sitting in my chest. I guess it is not meant to be.
Back inside the car, I drop Snow onto the passenger seat along with the mountain of snacks I absolutely do not regret buying. I sink into the driver’s seat and let my head fall back. I take a long breath in and then release it slowly, trying not to combust from leftover embarrassment and lingering attraction.
God. I have never met someone who unraveled me like that man. Not even Josh. And Josh had five whole years to try.
Speaking of which…
I reach for my phone immediately because apparently I enjoy emotional self harm. The screen lights up.
No missed calls. No texts. Just silence from my so-called boyfriend.
A short, humorless laugh slips from my throat. So that is it? After everything? That is how it ends? I fling the phone onto the seat beside me.
I shove the keys into the ignition and twist.
The car grumbles like an old man, gives one offended cough, and dies.
No. No.
I try again. Same result.
Oh come on. Not today. I keep turning the key, foot tapping against the floor in frustration. Seriously? Seriously?
The car stays dead. The only response is a little clicking sound that feels like the universe is laughing at me.
I growl under my breath, shove the door open, and step out into the cold. I kick the tire angrily. The pain shoots straight into my toes. Of course it does.
“Merry freaking Christmas to me,” I mutter.
“Need a little help?”
The voice reaches me before I even turn. It is the same deep, calm, stupidly attractive voice that has been living rent free in my head for the last ten minutes.
I spin around.
Charles is standing right there.
My breath stutters. My brain short circuits. You have got to be kidding me.
He gives me a slow, warm smile that almost melts my spine. “Car trouble?”
- Writer
