Hand Me Downs

Chapter 6-2

Fourteen Years AgoThe echoing two-story brick and glass student union building wasn’t exactly the best place to pick out a new arrival, but this new voice stood out to Branwen. No one else in the crowd of college students sprawled on couches, huddled around tables, or perched in rows of hard wooden chairs had managed to catch her attention for a long while.

Branwen spoke quietly, trying to keep whoever was sitting behind her from hearing.

“Who is that talking?”

Her friend Shelly started to turn around.

“No,” Branwen said, trying not to laugh. “He’ll see you.”

“He’s got his back to us, nothing but black hair and broad shoulders. I can’t tell who it is, never had a class with him. Want me to ask?”

Branwen usually appreciated Shelly’s directness, but she did not want this man to see her friend first. Guys always seemed to stop at tall, blond, blue-eyed, outgoing Shelly, and never got around to noticing the small, dark-haired, shy girl next to her.

Branwen had felt like that too many times beside her own mother.

If this guy looked anywhere near as good as he sounded, she didn’t want to take a chance. His voice was deep but soft, with an almost musical accent. She’d loved that accent as long as she could remember; it was both exotic and familiar.

Unless she’d missed her very educated guess, he hadn’t been long out of Glasgow.

“Just ask him where he’s from,” Shelly said. “I can’t tell, and he won’t know you can.” She started to turn again, but Branwen grabbed her arm.

“He’s Scottish, probably sick to death of answering that question. Just wait…”

Almost too late, she realized he was getting ready to leave. Branwen did the first thing she could think of and pushed her chair back into his, hoping the chance to apologize would get him talking to her.

Maybe she underestimated how hard she pushed, or maybe her chair caught on a ridge in the hardwood floor. Whatever the reason, she hit his chair hard enough to knock everything out of his hands.

Mortified, she rushed around to help.

“I’m so sorry!”

“It’s quite all right,” he said, laughing. “You’re much stronger than you look.”

She stood to give him the papers she’d gathered and looked into his eyes, inches from her own. She forgot how to breathe. Deep green, long black lashes, striking against his pale skin.

And what a smile he had.

“Are you hurt?” he said, still smiling. “That was quite a knock.”

“I’m fine, thank you, just painfully embarrassed. I’m Branwen Rundell.”

She held out her hand, and he put everything in the displaced chair to take it in both of his. That first vibrant touch was enough for her.

She wanted this man, and she didn’t care what it took to get him.

“Delighted to meet you, Branwen. John Falconer. Will you join me for coffee to settle our nerves?”