The First Man You Meet. Debbie Macomber
Aunt Milly’s wedding dress had been handed down from one generation to the next. Shelly had first heard it as a child and had loved it. In her young romantic heart, she’d ranked the story of her aunt Milly and uncle John with her favorite fairy tales of Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, barely able to distinguish truth from fantasy. However, she was an adult now. Her heart and her life weren’t going to be ruled by something as whimsical as a ‘‘magical’’ wedding dress or a fanciful legend.
‘‘You’re absolutely right,’’ Shelly announced emphatically. ‘‘This whole thing is ridiculous. Just because this wedding dress supposedly conjured up a husband for my aunt Milly fifty years ago doesn’t mean it’s going to do the same thing for me, no matter what she claims.’’
‘‘Well, thank goodness you’re finally being sensible about this.’’
‘‘No one bothered to ask me what I thought before shipping off a so-called magic wedding gown. I don’t want to marry just yet, so I certainly don’t need the dress. It was a nice gesture, but unnecessary.’’
‘‘Exactly,’’ Jill agreed.
‘‘I’m not interested in playing déjà voodoo.’’ She paused to laugh at her own joke.
Jill chuckled, too. ‘‘I wouldn’t be, either.’’
Shelly felt greatly relieved and sighed expressively. The tight muscles along the back of her neck began to relax. Jill was, as usual, full of sound, practical advice. Aunt Milly was a wonderful old lady, and the legend was a delightful bit of family lore, but it would be laughable to take any of this seriously.
‘‘How about meeting me for lunch tomorrow?’’ Jill suggested. ‘‘It’s been ages since we got together.’’
‘‘That sounds good to me,’’ Shelly said eagerly. Although they’d been good friends since college, it took some effort on both their parts these days to make time in their hectic lives to see each other. ‘‘When and where?’’
‘‘How about the mall?’’ Jill asked. ‘‘That would be easiest for me since I’m scheduled to work tomorrow. I can get off a few minutes before twelve.’’
‘‘Great. I’ll see you at noon at Patrick’s,’’ Shelly promised. Meeting her friend for lunch was just the antidote she needed after the terrible day she’d suffered through. But then what did she expect on Friday, April thirteenth?
SHELLY OVERSLEPT, then got caught in a traffic jam on her way to meet Jill the following morning. She detested being late, although she often was. Rather than fight for a convenient parking spot in the vast lot that surrounded the mall, she took the first available space and rushed toward the nearest entrance. Patrick’s, a cozy, charming restaurant on the mall’s upper level, was deservedly popular for business lunches. Shelly had eaten there often and especially enjoyed the spinach-and-shrimp salad.
A glance at her watch told her it was already after twelve, and not wanting to keep Jill waiting, she hurried toward the escalator. The shopping center was especially busy on weekends, she noted, as she weaved her way around several people.
Her mind must have been on the salad she intended to order for lunch instead of the escalator because the moment she placed her foot on the first tread, she lost her balance.
‘‘Oh…oh!’’ Swinging her arms out at both sides in a futile effort to remain upright, she groped at thin air. She tried frantically to catch herself as she fell backward.
Landing in someone’s arms shocked her as much as having lost her balance. Incredulous, she twisted around to thank her rescuer but this proved to be a mistake. Her action caught the man off guard, and before he could prevent it, they both went crashing to the floor. Once again Shelly expected to experience pain. Instead, her waist was surrounded by arms that were surprisingly strong. His grip was firm but gentle, protective. As they fell, he maneuvered himself to take the brunt of the impact when they landed. Sprawled as she was above him, Shelly found herself staring down at the most attractive man she’d ever seen. Her heart thrummed. Her breath caught. Her body froze.
For a moment neither of them spoke. A crowd had gathered around them before Shelly managed to speak. When she did, her voice was weak and breathless. ‘‘Are you all right? I’m so sorry…’’
‘‘I’m fine. What about you?’’
‘‘Fine. I think.’’
She lay cushioned by his solid chest, their faces scant inches apart. Shelly’s long hair fell forward, framing his face. He smelled of mint and some clean-scented soap. Her gaze wandered curiously over his features; at such close range she could see the tiny lines that fanned out from the edges of his sapphire-blue eyes as well as deep grooves that bracketed his mouth. His nose was classically straight, his mouth full and sensuous. At least his lower lip was. It didn’t take her long to recognize that this man was uncompromisingly male. His eyes held hers reluctantly, as if he, too, was caught in the same powerful trance.
Neither of them moved, and although Shelly was convinced the breathless sensation she felt was a result of the fall, she couldn’t seem to breathe properly even now.
‘‘Miss, are you hurt?’’
Reluctantly Shelly glanced up to find a security guard standing over her.
‘‘Um…I don’t think so.’’
‘‘Sir?’’
‘‘I’m fine.’’
The arms that were holding hers securely loosened.
‘‘If we could have you both sit over here for a moment,’’ the guard instructed, pointing at a bench. ‘‘We have an ambulance on the way.’’
‘‘An ambulance? But I told you I’m not hurt,’’ she objected.
The guard gently helped Shelly to her feet. Her legs were shaky and her breathing a bit uncertain, but otherwise she was unhurt.
‘‘Officer, there’s really no need—’’ the man who’d fallen with her protested.
‘‘Mall policy,’’ the guard interrupted. He hooked his thumbs into the wide leather belt and rocked gently back on his feet. ‘‘It’s standard procedure to have all accident victims checked immediately.’’
‘‘If you’re worried about a lawsuit—’’
‘‘I don’t make the rules,’’ the guard interrupted her rescuer once again. ‘‘I just see that they’re carried out. Now, if you’d both sit over here, the medical team will be here in a couple of minutes.’’
‘‘I don’t have time to wait,’’ Shelly cried. ‘‘I’m meeting someone.’’ She glanced longingly at the upper level, wondering how she could get word of her delay to Jill. It didn’t reassure her to notice the number of people clustered by the railing, staring down at her. Her little escapade had attracted quite a bit of attention.
‘‘I’ve got an appointment, as well,’’ the man said, looking pointedly at his watch.
The security guard ignored their protests. He removed a small notebook from his shirt pocket and flipped it open. ‘‘Your names, please.’’
‘‘Shelly Hansen.’’
‘‘Mark Brady.’’
He wrote down the information and a brief account of how they happened to fall.
‘‘I won’t have to go to the hospital, will I?’’ Shelly demanded.
‘‘That depends,’’ the guard answered.
This whole thing was ridiculous. She was perfectly fine. A little shaken, true, but uninjured. She suddenly realized that she hadn’t thanked this man—Mark, was it?
‘‘I’m terribly sorry about all this,’’ she offered. ‘‘I can’t