Beauty Awakened

“Nicola. Latin, meaning ‘a victorious people.’”

They turned the first corner, though the scenery didn’t change. All of the hallways were the same: white and silver with signs posted along the walls. “Uh, did you just secretly look that up on a cell phone I can’t see or did you already know?”

“I knew.”

“Why?”

“The words we speak are important, powerful, and since names are spoken every day, directed at specific individuals, people often become what they are called. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

Well, she wouldn’t tell him she was the most defeated person ever and shatter his illusions. “What does Laila mean?”

“Dark beauty.”

Interesting. Laila was fair, but she was lovely. “What does Koldo mean?”

“Famous warrior.”

A warrior, as she’d first assumed? She wondered if he was in the army. “Are you truly famous?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No pride. In his mind, he must have simply stated a fact. She admired his confidence. “So, what do you do, Koldo?”

“I’m in the army.”

Nailed it!

Two more corners, and they reached the shop. He directed her to an empty table. “What would you like, Nicola?”

Her name on his lips … an embrace and a curse, all rolled into one. It was a little disconcerting. “Oh, I can—”

“You won’t offer to give me money, and insult me,” he said, and for once he sounded genuinely offended. “Now, then. Let’s try this again. What would you like? I’m buying.”

She smiled. No one had ever insisted on buying her something to drink. Most offers came from the coworkers who knew about her situation, and were mere tokens. The moment she mentioned taking care of her own bill, the other person immediately acquiesced. “An herbal tea, please. Something without caffeine. And thank you very much.”

A nod, and he was off, leaving her chilled. She watched as he approached the counter. Watched as the punked-out cashier stared at him with utter fascination. He didn’t seem to notice as he placed the order and waited for the drinks … and muffins, scones and croissants from the looks of it.

What kind of woman would capture his attention? she wondered.

Another warrior-type probably. Strong, capable, with big-enough bones to withstand any kind of abuse—uh, contact.

He returned a few minutes later and spread out a feast before her, the scent of berries, yeast and sugar wafting up and making her mouth water. She hadn’t eaten in forever, it seemed, because she’d been too consumed with worry for Laila, dread over paying bills she hadn’t begun to make a dent in and, well, trying not to drown in a sea of despair.

Today was different, though. Even as upset as she was, she felt better than she had in a long, long time, and her stomach rumbled.

Cheeks flushing, she claimed her tea and sipped at the burning liquid, savoring the sweetness. “Seriously, Koldo. This means a lot to me. A thousand times thank you wouldn’t be enough.”

“It’s very much my pleasure, Nicola.”

So polite. She liked that.

And the likes were certainly outweighing the dislikes now, weren’t they?

“The food is for you, as well,” he said, pushing a muffin in her direction.

Her eyes widened with astonishment. “All of it?”

“Of course.”

Of course, he’d said. As if she was used to eating for an entire legion.

“You will keep up your strength,” he added. “Right now, you’re too pale, too frail.”

She wasn’t insulted. She was pale and frail. Nicola selected one of the croissants, pinched off a warm, buttery corner. “So … were you here visiting someone?”

“Yes.”

Though she waited, attentive, he offered no more than that. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

Annnd … again he offered nothing more. “Do you come here often?”

“That could be the plan, yes.”

Silence.

Talkative much? But okay, no problem. They weren’t really here to get to know each other, were they? They were here to forget their lives, if only for a little while. “I’m here a lot.” Every day, in fact.

“Perhaps we’ll see each other again.” He lifted a steaming cup of coffee to lips as plush and red as candy apples and gulped. His expression never changed, the fiery temperature somehow not melting and welding his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

“Perhaps,” she offered.

Again, silence.

What were girls supposed to talk about with boys they weren’t interested in romantically? Because, if she were being honest—something he would definitely approve of—this was kind of painful. It wasn’t what she’d expected or hoped for.

“What do you do when you’re not here, Nicola?” he asked, at last taking up the reins of conversation.

Relieved by his efforts, she relaxed in her seat. “I work. I’m an accountant every weekday morning and afternoon.” A job guaranteed to keep her blood pressure steady. She could crunch numbers, sort receipts and design a financial plan to get anyone out of debt. Anyone but herself, that is. She was still working through her parents’ bills, and her and Laila’s medical costs were still stacking up. “I’m a checkout girl at an organic food market every evening and on weekends.”

“Neither of those jobs sprang from a childhood dream.”

No, but dreams died … and if you weren’t careful, the ghosts would haunt your present. “Why do you think that?” She wasn’t fond of her jobs, but she’d always done whatever was needed to survive.

“I’m highly observant.”

And quite modest.