Trina rushed towards the restaurant, checking her watch. Swollen clouds ruptured three blocks from her destination. As she click-clacked up the sidewalk, soaked, her heel caught and the concrete whooshed up to meet her nose.
“Let me help you.” A firm hand grasped her arm, but too late. Hose ripped and knees bleeding, she turned towards the husky voice.
“I’m alright. You can let go now.” Trina shook off the warm fingers and swayed to her feet, clutching a package to her chest.
Probing eyes examined her. “You’re a mess. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“No, I’ve an appointment at the Galley Pump Bistro. There,” she pointed.
Chin down, his shoulders shook. “Me too.”
Trina glared and hobbled forward, one heel missing, rain dripping from her eyelashes.
The Maître de bounced on his heels. “Mr. Dave Eagers’ table, please.”
“I’m Dave Eagers.”
She turned. “Are you sure? I—your manuscript.”
~ * ~