Stuck Together

Being trapped in a lift was a nightmare for Amy. Thankfully she wasn’t alone . . .

AMY’S mind spun, and her head felt light. Somewhere deep inside, panic was slowly surging, gathering momentum.

To someone with claustrophobia, getting stuck in a lift was the stuff of nightmares.

At least she wasn’t alone. A man had joined her in the lift on the second floor.

She’d looked at him when he stepped inside, but paralysing shyness had gripped her at the sight of his mussed dark hair, black leather jacket and smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Amy battled her shyness daily, but she’d improved a lot since taking the job as secretary for the accounting firm on the third floor.

Unfortunately, she still hadn’t worked out a plan to combat the effect that a good-looking man had on her, and now she was trapped with one in a small space.

That was low on her list of concerns right now, though. Her panic was rising, suffocating her.

Her awareness of him was fading as she struggled to breathe.

Until he took her hand. For a second, everything stopped. Even the panic. All she felt was warm skin against hers. Then, just like that, reality was back.

She was trapped. In a lift. No space. And for some reason, those thoughts made her curl her fingers round his and hang on. “Breathe.”

His voice was low, but in the silence of the lift, she had no trouble hearing him.

She closed her eyes and did as he said. Shallow breaths at first, but soon she could feel her lungs drawing in a little more air, the struggle easing. Her legs felt like rubber.

“I think you should sit down.”

She felt his hand tighten on hers and his other hand grip her elbow until she was sitting on the cold tiles.

Then she felt his shoulder bump against hers as he sat down beside her.

For some reason, it helped to keep her eyes closed, as though she could pretend she was somewhere else. “What’s your name?” The soft rumble of his voice startled her, breaking her concentration.

How was she supposed to focus on breathing and carry on a conversation, she wondered irritably, but something told her to try. “Amy.”

“I’m Jake.”

She didn’t reply. Panic was still pulling at her, as though she was swimming desperately against a strong current.

His hand tightened on hers, and it felt as though his grip was trying to pull her free of the current.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said. “Something crazy.”

Crazy? Well, he wouldn’t know that her life was too predictable to hold much craziness.

“Don’t be shy, Amy. Everyone has a little crazy, even if it’s buried deep.

“Maybe you’re obsessed with karaoke. Maybe you own twenty-four guinea pigs. Maybe you collect bizarre souvenirs.”

Was the panic easing, or was that just her imagination? She struggled to think clearly.

“Sometimes I bake biscuits in the middle of the night.”

His laugh rumbled out, filling the small space.

“I won’t judge. Sometimes I eat biscuits in the middle of the night.”

She felt a smile tugging at her lips.

“OK, Amy. Tell me one thing you want to do but have never had the courage – or opportunity – to do.”

“I’d like to work at a bakery.”

“Really? A bakery? That’s interesting.”

He actually sounded interested, she thought.

Her thoughts were clearer now, and it felt as though the current was losing its grip on her.

But she didn’t want to let go of his hand, because it still felt like the lifeline.

For the first time, she thought she could manage a question of her own.

“What’s the thing that you’d do?”

“I’d buy a motorbike.” “So why haven’t you?” “Why don’t you work at a bakery?”

She opened her mouth but realised she had no answer. Instead, she opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was his hand wrapped around hers. Then her attention was caught by a tattoo.

She studied the script, dark and bold against the tanned skin of his wrist.

It read Hope. Always.

And, beside that, a heart.

He must have noticed, because he tilted his wrist a little, bringing the tattoo more into view.

“How do you feel about tattoos?”

She looked up quickly. His dark eyes were sparkling with mischief. “I don’t have any.” “I meant on someone else.” He winked at her, and for a second, all thoughts left her brain.

This time, it wasn’t panic that drove them out. It was something else entirely.

Something warm and delicious and confusing all at the same time.

“That’s my only one,” he said. “I don’t plan on getting any more, but I’m glad I got it.”

“Is it your life motto or something?”

“In a way. My sister

was named Hope. She died three years ago in a car accident.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” “Thank you. But you’re right, the tattoo has a double meaning.

“I wanted something to remind me of the little sister I loved, but also that everyone needs hope, always, to carry them through the tough times in life.”

“I like that.”

Amy should really let go of his hand now. The panic was all but gone.

The fact that she, awkward, shy Amy, was sitting in a lift holding the hand of a perfect stranger was . . . well, it was unbelievable.

Maybe it was all a bizarre dream. She hoped it wasn’t, because she had no wish to wake up.

He leaned forward and peered at her face.

“You’re feeling better now, aren’t you? You don’t look so pale. I was worried about you.”

“Thank you. I am better now.”

That seemed the cue to pull her hand from his.

She did so, unable to squash the feeling of disappointment. “Claustrophobia?”

She nodded.

“At first I thought it might be fear of people with tattoos.” He gave her another wink. “There’s probably a name for that.”

She heard a giggle escape.

“I just remembered something.” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out an unopened chocolate bar.

“Bought this on my way here in case I got hungry later. You ready for a snack?”

“Oh, yes, please.” “Now that’s the most excitement I’ve heard in your voice since we got in here.”

He unwrapped the bar and held it out to her.

“Thank you.” She broke off a piece and let it melt on her tongue.

“You’re welcome. This is more fun than some first dates I’ve had. At least the food’s good here.”

She laughed, then caught the sparkle in his eyes. Was he flirting with her?

And just like that, the paralysing shyness returned, as if the real Amy had reappeared. She could think of nothing to say.

So it was perfect timing for the emergency rescue crew to arrive.

****

The feeling of relief from being able to walk out of that lift was immense.

It wasn’t until they were in the hallway that Amy felt a wave of disappointment.

“Shall we take the stairs to the ground floor?” Jake asked, smiling at her.

“I think I’ll always prefer stairs from now on.”

He laughed as they entered the stairwell and started down the steps.

“Well, you’ve really expanded your horizons today. Got stuck in an elevator. Held hands with a stranger.”

He tossed out the last one with that mischievous smile she’d seen earlier when he was teasing her.

Developed a crush on a stranger, she thought. Good thing he didn’t know about that.

“Unless, of course, you’ve done those things before,” he added.

“No, never.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and he held both the door to the lobby and the front door for her.

Bright sunshine greeted them as they stepped outside into the warmth of a late summer afternoon.

“Thank you,” she said, stopping to look at him. “For your kindness. For helping me with the claustrophobia.

“I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been alone in there.”

He stopped, too.

“My pleasure.”

She hadn’t a clue how long they stood there looking at each other. Probably not as long as it felt.

“I think you should work at a bakery,” he said. “I can see you wearing an apron and covered in flour, cutting out biscuits and frosting cupcakes.

“And if that’s your dream, you should pursue it. Life is too short to fill your days with something that doesn’t make you happy.”

“I know you’re right, but I don’t have any proper qualifications.”

“When it comes to food, sometimes passion is much more important than qualifications.”

“The fact that friends and family rave over everything I bake isn’t very convincing on a CV.”

“That’s not a very hopeful thing to say, is it?” He held up his wrist so she could see his tattoo.

“And here I was hoping my tattoo had inspired you.”

Put like that, she realised that something about this man and his voice, his words, did boost her courage.

“You have. I mean, it has.”

He grinned.

“If I told you to visit a certain bakery and apply for a job, would you do it?

“There’s one not far from here, and I happen to know the owner is trying desperately to find a new baker.

“Come on, you just survived being stuck in a lift.

“How hard would it be to walk inside that bakery and tell them you’d like a job?” “All right then. I will.” His eyes lit up. “Really? Promise?” “Promise.”

He told her the name of the bakery and where it was.

“I’ll go there tomorrow morning before my shift starts,” she said.

“Excellent.” He held out his arms. “Hug?”

She stepped towards him, hesitating.

Then he pulled her close, and it felt so natural to slip her arms round him.

It was over far too quickly.

“It was lovely to meet you, Amy.”

That horrible shyness was gripping her again. She started to back away. “Goodbye, Jake.” “Tomorrow, right?” He smiled.

She stared at him.

Tomorrow? He was going to see her? Oh, wait. The bakery.

“Yes. Tomorrow I’ll go.” He raised his hand. “Bye, Amy.”

****

Why on earth had she promised to go to the bakery?

By the time she reached home, Amy had talked herself out of it three times. But then again, what did she have to lose?

It was only fear holding her back, and she was tired of listening to that.

She spent the evening updating her CV before printing it off.

Then she lay awake for much too long, thinking about a pair of brown eyes, a strong, warm hand, and a smile that turned her insides to jelly.

What were the chances that their paths would cross again in a big city like this?

When she reached the bakery the next morning, she could see that it was both a small café and bakery in one.

She glanced round at the tables with the small vases of fresh flowers, the racks of breads and pastries and the shelves filled with colourful cups and saucers.

Then her eyes met those of the man standing behind the counter, eyes that had kept her awake.

Jake was looking past the customer standing at the counter and smiling at her.

The customer stuffed her purse back into her bag and walked away, a large paper bag in her hand.

The hustle and bustle of the café seemed to fade as Amy and Jake stood there, looking at each other.

“Welcome to my bakery,” he said. “Do you like it?”

She smiled at the memory of him talking about the owner of a certain bakery.

She should have known. “It’s lovely. Everything a bakery should be.”

“Thank you. Would you like a tour?”

“Yes, please.”

As she stepped behind the counter, she felt as though she was coming home. ■