Page 2 of No Headlines Please

Or maybe not.

After all, I'd been dodging her for nearly a year for reasons I was pretty sure she'd understand once I had the chance to explain.

Hopefully.

I took a deep breath, tucked the hydrangea tighter against my torso, and marched straight to the entrance, dragging the suitcase along behind me.

When I reached the door, I released the suitcase just long enough to grab the door handle and give it a good, strong pull while looking back to make sure my suitcase didn't topple over.

I grabbed the suitcase handle just in time, braced the door with my shoulder, and gave the suitcase a hard yank. It shot forward way too fast, pushing me right along with it.

I turned and stumbled forward – half outside, half inside – and crashed directly into a stranger on his way out. There was a solid, unmistakable collision with an "oof" on my part and utter silence on his.

I pulled back just in time to see a cascade of dirt and petals tumble down the front of his very white shirt and onto his dark leather loafers.

I froze as the door caught halfway open and bumped awkwardly against my hip.

The guy didn't move.

Neither of us said anything.

In a flash, I took him in. He was dark-haired and obnoxiously handsome, with broad shoulders, a trim waist, and the kind of quiet, contained presence that made this whole fiasco feel even worse.

I stared down at his soiled shirt and then, lower, to his dirt-speckled shoes. They looked beyond expensive, just like the rest of him.

Reluctantly, I dragged my gaze back up. His suit was charcoal, with the jacket unbuttoned over the previously pristine shirt. He wore no tie, and his shirt collar was open just enough to make me swallow as I craned my neck to meet his dark, assessing gaze.

He wasn't smiling.

But then again, it's not like I'd be smiling if someone had dumped a big, stupid mess on me.

I was still fumbling for something to say when a gruff male voice from somewhere behind me barked out, "Are you gonna stand there all day?"

I whirled to look and saw an elderly man, carrying a six-pack of beer in one hand and a plastic shopping bag in the other.

He jerked his chin toward the half-open door. "And you're lettin' the air out."

Right. The air in the lobby was cool. The air at my back was warm. Or maybe I was just burning with embarrassment. This was my cue to move. Obviously.

But when I looked forward again, the guy in the suit still hadn't budged, making me the meat in this human sandwich.

I gave him an apologetic wince. "I'm really sorry."

From behind me, Beer Guy grumbled, "Me, too. The beer was cold when I bought it."

But the guy in the suit? He still said nothing. And he sure as heck didn't budge.

Desperately, I blurted out, "I can pay for the shirt if you want." But then, my stomach sank. Oh, crap. Could I afford the shirt?

No. Definitely not.

Quickly, I amended, "I mean…I can pay to have it cleaned." Probably.

From behind me, the older guy snorted. "Nice. You gonna buy my beer, too?"

I turned back with a sharp look. "Only if I get to drink it."

This made him frown. "Hey, get your own beer."