Allie kicked her black high heels off her feet and plummeted in the middle of the break room. Full or empty, she didn't care if there was anyone around to watch their boss drop her palms on the floor and create a small pool of tears underneath her. Thankfully, she had sent everyone home early on Christmas break. Her pale reflection in the gray tiles showed her smeared mascara, which she wiped off in anger, remembering the day she lost him.
Then she frowned. He couldn't have been alive. It was impossible. But the man she had seen seconds earlier in the hallway looked exactly like him. Yes, he looked different. Maybe it was the blue jumpsuit and the much longer and messier hair, but she could see through all of that. She could almost say she felt him.
She reached for the refrigerator handle to lift herself up when two arms carried her torso. Startled, her legs worked faster. The woman hid her face under her curls as she hurried toward the water faucet. Her make up began to wash off, trying to get rid of the evidence of her despair.
What was she thinking? She was the owner of the Wellington Family Farms corporation. Showing weakness at her workplace had been a mistake.
"I'm sorry. I've never had a lady cry in front of me, so I'm not sure what to do in these situations."
Allie turned the water faucet off and stood still with her eyes wide opened. She began panting. It was his voice. He was behind her. Something inside her was afraid to show her face, but her heart wanted to corroborate her findings.
She whirled and clutched the counter behind her. Pressure built in her head as her eyes attempted to see a different person—anyone, really; not him; he was dead.
"Should I leave?" The man in the blue jumpsuit rubbed his palms on his hips. "But then I won't stop thinking I left a lady crying, alone."
"Please, don't leave." She aimed for his wrist, stopping him from touching the handle of his cleaning cart.
The electricity of his body ran through hers, and his features became the face of the young man, who once loved her, who once she loved. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
He kept his arms on his sides and never touched her, letting the taste of his lips take her back to a short love story in a little apartment in the Kirby Heights.
"I love you, Dean." Her fingers ran through his honey colored hair.