Silky brown hair waves slightly, brushes against her cheeks, and ends just below her chin. She’s got on a conservative white blouse, buttoned to her slim throat. I want to pop a few of those buttons open, see more of that skin flushed with a healthy glow. A black skirt covers her to the knees but still lets my eyes trace down her toned calves to where they disappear into a pair of heeled black boots. The whole outfit makes her look like she’s heading into a job interview, but I find the professional look sexy as hell.

I’m curious.

Why is she here? This girl can’t be dying … can she?

A surprising surge of panic has me clenching my hands.

With a deep breath, I push the strange reaction away because it’s not rational. I’ve never spoken to her, so why should I care about her medical issues?

My imagination has too much free rein when I’m stuck in these uncomfortable situations. Like a coping mechanism, to avoid my own problems, I make up fake issues for other people that I can worry about. That has to be it.

I’m being ridiculous. I don’t know why she’s here, who she is, or even what her name is.

She hasn’t even looked at me.

And, like I yelled that thought across the room, my mystery girl glances up from her book, her gaze connecting with mine.

HOLLY

Why did we get here so early?

This is supposed to be a good day, but I’m still a jittery mess. I think it’s these sitting rooms. Maybe the chairs with their poor back support and lack of cushioning or the lighting, always fluorescent. But, really, I think it’s the smell. Brings back bad memories.

I’ve been stuck reading this same page for the last five minutes, trying to focus enough to get the words to stay in my brain.

It’s no use. I’m too excited. Too scared.

Will things finally work out this time?

I glance out the side of my eye to check on Marcus. He grumbled about me staring at him earlier, so now, I have to be covert.

As usual, he’s busy with his designs. Just last year, a prestigious architecture firm in NYC made him a decent job offer. So good in fact that he was willing to leave his beloved Philadelphia to relocate. I might have given him a shove or two, making sure he didn’t let a dream slip through his fingers. I miss him, but at least he’s just a train ride away.

When I’m sure he’s not freaking out, I refocus on my homework for digital marketing. Normally, I’m all about this subject. I carry half of the class participation on my own shoulders.

I still can’t concentrate.

But, this time, it’s not my worries throwing me off. There’s a weird pressure brushing against my skin. Like I’m being watched.

With that creepy thought itching over me, I put my finger on the sentence I last tried to read and tilt my head up to view the room.