Gorilla, Let Down Your Hair

Chapter 4: Beauty and the Glowing Blue Chest

The bell over the bakery door greeted Vicky merrily when she stepped into the cheerful space. The smell of roasted beans and sugar-coated carbs flooded her nose and eased some of the tension in her muscles. She surveyed the occupants of the scattered tables, but no one looked at her for more than a second before returning to their business. Most didn't bother to glance up at all, too absorbed in their phones or laptops to care about a new customer.

The drama at her apartment had delayed her longer than she realized, and most of the morning crowd was long gone, along with their usual line. She stepped right up to the counter to order. She had to pause between the coffees and bagel sandwiches to cut the quantity in half; some habits might be hard to break. She added a fresh chocolate chip pumpkin muffin with warm cream cheese topping before stepping aside to wait. Wednesday was her typical muffin day—what better way to get over the hump of the week?—but she deserved a little sweet therapy today.

She gathered disposable utensils and scanned the room for a place to sit. She was still looking when her name was called. Every table held at least one person, and all the seats at the counter along the windows were occupied as well. She sighed as she turned back toward the counter to ask for a bag to carry out her food.

As she spun, the edge of her tray crashed into a broad chest and tilted dangerously upward. Her cup leaned toward her own chest, steam pouring from the lid. She gasped in a breath and held it, as time seemed to slow to the speed of rush-hour traffic. Any moment now, hot liquid would soak through her thin t-shirt and burn her skin, and she could only watch. Or at least that was her expectation.

The owner of the chest didn't wait for the inevitable. As time continued to inch forward, his hands moved at incredible speed to steady the tray with one hand and snag her cup with the other. As he set the cup on the now-level tray, time resumed its normal flow, and she huffed out the breath she'd held for much too long.

"Are you all right, miss?"

His voice vibrated the air between them, and she wanted to hear more. Instead of dismissing his concerns out of hand, she kept staring down at the tray as she spoke, "Actually, I am feeling a bit shaky. I'm worried I'll drop the tray before I find a place to sit. I'd be very grateful if you could help me, just for another minute or two. Do you mind?"

She tilted her head up, prepared to bat her eyelashes at the man in supplication, but when their eyes met, a sizzling connection snapped into place, stealing her breath and filling her with restless energy. She froze, eyes wide and mouth gaping, lost in sensation. His expression mirrored hers. The chorus of "How Does a Moment Last Forever" from the 2017 "Beauty and the Beast" wove itself around her paused thoughts.

Beyond her zinging nerves, a sense of recognition seeped into her awareness. The man before her—with his raven black-blue hair and pale ice blue eyes playing peekaboo with the light under his hood—bore a striking resemblance to the drummer or her favorite band Aspire. Of course, that was impossible. Celebrities didn't hang out in neighborhood coffee shops, did they?

She didn't get the chance to contemplate the question further. Outside, several sets of brakes screeched in protest and horns blared. She winced and ducked her head away from the windows, recognizing the sounds of an impending accident. But the crunch of metal and plastic colliding remained absent. No shouts of angry drivers followed either, so Vicky straightened to see the drama. Or she tried.

The man with the electrifying eyes had shifted to put himself between her and the windows, crouching over her and forming a human shield. When she attempted to move, he wrapped an arm around her to hold her close, tucking her under his chin and touching one finger to her lips in the universal sign for silence. The zing of electricity under her skin fired up once more, but she stifled any audible response. Instinct screamed for her to hide, to not draw attention to herself, and experience convinced her to obey.