gently pat down her spine, checking for injuries. The streetlamp doesn’t offer much light, but it’s enough to see that there’s not any blood on her blue pea coat.
“Is your back hurt?”
She pushes my hand away and sits up, shaking her head. “No, not my back—my book.”
“What?”
She swipes her brown hair out of her face and points at something behind me. I turn and spot an old book lying in the mud.
This girl was just held up at gunpoint and her first concern is a book?
“I bet it’s ruined,” she cries, sounding heartbroken at the prospect.
I’m completely confused. “Was he trying to rob you? Or…” I can’t quite bring myself to say the other R word, but maybe I don’t have to because she’s still fully clothed, thank God.
“No,” she says, getting to her feet so she can go retrieve the book. “I don’t think so. I kept offering him money, but he didn’t want it. He was mumbling a lot just before you ran over, saying stuff about ‘teaching him a lesson’.” She crouches down and cradles the book, trying to wipe off some of the dirt. “He must have been confused. He was probably on drugs or something.”
I frown, aware that she hasn’t really looked at me yet. She’s so concerned with that damn book, and I think she must be in shock.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, pushing to my feet and hesitantly stepping toward her with my hands outstretched. I don’t want to spook her.
She finally turns and looks up, the lamplight casting a hazy glow over half of her face and leaving the rest in shadow. There are tears staining her cheeks. At first, her small stature and long hair made her seem younger than she is, but now I see she’s not a child at all.
For a few seconds, we stare at each other as she takes in my appearance, dragging her gaze down my rumpled suit and then back up to my face. She blinks and recognition settles into her bright hazel eyes, framed by thick black lashes and a few unshed tears. A deep frown settles on her lips just before her hand flies up to cover her mouth. “Oh my god, did he do that to your eye?”
Right, my eye—the one that’s halfway swollen shut.
I actually chuckle. At this point, it’s the only thing I can do. “No. If you can believe it, this happened in a different fight earlier tonight.”
“Wow.” Her brows arch in disbelief. “Ben Rosenberg, hardened street fighter. Who would have thought?”
I frown. “Sorry, I think you have the advantage. Do we know each other?”
She pushes to her feet and starts to gather up her things, which are scattered across the ground. I help her by picking up a crumpled gift bag and a Tupperware. Inside, there’s some brown sludge that hardly looks fit for human consumption. Maybe it’s not.
“Oh, no. We’ve never officially met. I’m pretty sure I would remember that.” I glance back at her as I hand off the plastic container, trying to place her features, but the light is too low and she’s too busy gathering her stuff to look at me. “Though there was a time last year when you were in front of me in the grocery store checkout line. I remember you bought roast beef. Is that weird?” She shakes her head and turns to me with a shrug. Then she holds out her hand, a small thing, and makes it clear she wants me to shake it. “I’m Madison.”
“Madison,” I repeat, a little dumbstruck. I wasn’t expecting her to be attractive. Sure, her dark brown hair is kind of wild and her cheeks are bright red from the biting wind, but she has high cheekbones and beautiful eyes, even if they’re a little sad. I realize I’ve said her name aloud two more times, and now I’m the one who looks like a weirdo even though she just admitted to stalking me at the grocery store.
“Yes,” she says, nodding as she takes her bottom lip between her teeth. I think she’s trying to keep from openly smiling at me, but I wish she’d just do it. I want to see her smile, even if it’s at my expense. “Mad-i-son. Just like that. You’ve got the hang of it.”
She’s funny.
Her hand is still outstretched, hanging awkwardly between us, so I belatedly step forward to take it. My hand engulfs hers. She’s ice cold and trembling. Of course, three minutes ago she was