“Alex I’m heading to lunch. Can you please make sure to contact the studio and check on the status of those descriptive audio recordings?”
“You got it, Miss Johnson,” he said.
“When you’re finished, head in here. I need your eyes.”
“Will do, Miss Johnson.”
Miss Johnson, Tori snorted as she hung up the phone. She wished to God she could get rid of that name. She’d worn it as a badge of honor, a tribute to her father, and she’d done nothing but soil his name. Victoria Harris rolled around in her head like a high schooler scrolling their boyfriend’s name on a sheet of notebook paper.
She buried her face in her hands. She was failing miserably at everything. Failing at work, failing at life, failing at getting Scott out of her head.
A knock at her door snapped her head up.
“You ready?” Alex asked. He’d been saving her ass the past few weeks. She’d been trying her best to focus, but her mind was all over the place
“Absolutely.” She plastered on a fake grin. Deep breath, move on.
They spent the rest of the afternoon researching artists that sparked Tori’s interest.
“This one is particularly beautiful,” he described, leaning over her shoulder. “It’s a black and white photo of a gorgeous woman. Her lips are adorned in dark lipstick, and she is wearing a lace blindfold. Her lips are pursed and slightly open, a man’s fingers touch them gently. On top of the image is something written in braille.” They were researching work done by Gerardo Nigenda, a blind photographer from Mexico City. “It makes you want to reach out and touch her. It’s stunningly erotic, yet tasteful.”
Tori’s cheeks heated.
“Did I fluster you, Miss Johnson?” He laughed.
Damn he caught that.
She fanned herself a bit. “You described it…very well.” She swallowed hard. “For the love of God, stop calling me Miss Johnson. You make me feel ancient.” He was only about four years younger than her.
“Ok, Victoria.” Alex seemed adorable in a boy-next-door type of way. His voice made him sound a bit younger than he was. “In all seriousness, though, he has this amazing way of capturing life as he sees it. He uses the braille to describe what he smelled, tasted, and touched when he snapped the image. It’s beautiful.”
“Well, that settles it. We have to include his work.” She checked her watch. Six forty-five? Holy shit! She felt terrible keeping Alex so late. No wonder the office was so quiet. “We’ll pick it up Monday morning.” Tori locked her computer and stood from her desk.
“Have a nice weekend, Miss….”
Tori raised her eyebrows.
“Victoria. Have a nice weekend, Victoria,” he corrected.
“You, too, Alex.”
Tori shut her office and walked the hall to the elevators. Footsteps followed her. She stopped to listen, and the hall was quiet. This time on a Friday night, the building was usually clear except for the security guards. “Alex?” she asked. Nothing. She continued swiping her cane toward the elevator.
As she walked, she once again heard the rhythm of soft steps, almost closer now. She halted again, so did the footsteps. “Hello?” she called out. “Is someone there?” No answer. The hair on her arms prickled as she pressed the elevator button.
Maybe it’s time to get off the meds. They’re making you crazy, Tori.
She walked to the metro, staying close to the wall as she turned from the escalator. The screeching railcar came to a halt, and with a hiss, the doors slid open. She got on and prayed the disabled seat wasn’t occupied. Usually, people moved for her.
“Is this seat open?” She learned it’s best to ask. She didn’t want to sit on someone, again.
No response. Lovely. Thankfully, her bottom found the seat empty.
She couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on her. Of course, eyes were on her, she was a bit of a sideshow after all. She was being overly paranoid. Still, she gripped her purse tightly as the railcar rattled down the tracks.
Jane constantly complained about her riding the subway, pointing out Tori had plenty of money for Uber, but Tori preferred to save time at rush hour. “You’re an easy target for a sexual predator,” Jane’s voice echoed in her head. “You’re beautiful and blind. Someone could stalk you, and you’d never know it.”
Maybe Jane was right. She had to keep her focus on her travel. She never paid much attention to the fact she could be followed until today. No, Jane had just lived in the suburbs too long. They both survived growing up in the shittiest parts of the city.
She got off at her stop and headed southeast, making her usual detour through the small park.
What if someone is stalking you? What if you have some rapist after you that’s building up for the right moment? Tori’s mind imagined some pervert in her bathroom while she bathed, taking photos of her, and her not being any the wiser. She dismissed that thought. It was too absurd. You’ve watched way too many thriller movies. This isn’t Jennifer 8.
Behind the sound of her cane scraping back and forth, footsteps pattered again in perfect timing with hers on the gravel path. She stopped again and listened intently. A breeze hit her face, and the rustling of the leaves and branches flowed with it. The bustling traffic echoed in the distance, but nothing close by. She started walking again.
Crack!
A fallen branch snapped in two behind her. Her knees weakened, and she dizzied.
Her instinct said run, but that would be a disaster. She picked up her walking to a pace faster than she should. Her cane finally hit the concrete at the edge of the park, but her heel caught in the crack and sent her flying toward the street. Her body barreled into another person, and she went tumbling downward.
A strong arm pulled her up quickly. A horn blared in her ear, and the gust of a car swooshed past her head. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Gravely male voice, stern, protective. Scott? No, it couldn’t be.
“I… I’m sorry…” she stammered. “I couldn’t… I didn’t see… I mean… I’m blind, I didn’t see you,” she couldn’t utter a logical thought.
“I can see that,” he said politely as she stood and tried to collect herself. He placed her belongings into her hands. “That was a hell of a sprint. Not really the right shoes for the job, though.”
Tori tilted her head down and fidgeted with her cane. “I thought I heard someone following me. I freaked out. I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”
Her rescuer chuckled. He had a nice smile to his voice. “I’m fine. The question is, are you?” He gently placed her sunglasses back on her face. They’d also got knocked off in the fall.
“Other than a bruised ego and a scraped knee, I think I’m ok.” She could feel blood trickling down her leg. She reached in her purse and groped around, finding a tissue, and tried to stop it best she could.
“Here, let me look.” He took the tissue from her. “Someone was following you?” he asked as he blotted her knee.
“There were footsteps that stopped when I stopped. When I got faster, they got faster. Obviously, I can’t be certain, but I had this feeling. It’s hard to explain unless…”
“Unless you’re blind. I get it. That sixth”—he cleared his throat—“well, in your case, fifth sense, kicking in.”
Tori flashed a grin. She liked the fact he was teasing her, even if it made her feel clumsy.
“I don’t see anyone at this moment lurking around. If someone was following you, I think you outran them.”
“That’s a relief.” She bit her lip. “So how bad does it look?”
“Oh, just a scrape. It didn’t bleed much at all.” He cleared his throat. “You’re all clean now. I think you’ll survive. Seriously, though, are you going to be ok? Can I at least walk you somewhere?”
Tori was embarrassed enough for one day and capable of making it home. “I live down the street. I’ll be fine, but thank you for saving my ass from getting plowed by a car.”
“I wish you’d let me help you home, if for nothing else to at least be certain someone wasn’t following you. Pretty blind girl. Big, scary city. Could be a lot of crazies out there,” his voice inflected.
She didn’t know this guy from Adam. That had never stopped her in the past from enjoying the company of a stranger, but things were different. Then again, his kindness and humor was perking her interest.
“How do I know you aren’t a crazy man wanting to follow me home and have your way with me?”
“Considering I just saved your life, I’d hope that would earn me some credit.” He heaved a big sigh. “I suppose you’ll have to take my word for it.”
A walk home won’t hurt. She didn’t see any harm in that, as long as she didn’t tell him her apartment number.
He had such laughter in his voice; Tori immediately found it as a turn on. Was he as cute as he sounded? She needed to know a little more about the guy she’d have on her arm. Tori pretended to lose her balance and allowed herself to fall into him.
“Woah.” He grabbed her and held on for a second. “Seems like you aren’t as good as you thought, huh?”
Lean build, strong, large. Not as muscular as Scott, but fit. Scott was the stick she used to measure all men to, and they always came up short in comparison.
She brushed her hand across his torso. Collared shirt, suit jacket and tie—a professional, so it seemed. And he smelled good, too—masculine, clean, and crisp. All this told her he cared about his appearance.
“I guess I’m still a little shook up,” she lied. “Ok, I’ll take you up on that walk home.” She advised him on the name of her complex and its location.
“Well, that’s not too far from me. I was headed in the same direction.”
“I’m Tori, by the way.” She extended her hand and waited for his in return.
“Tori, my name is Connor. It’s nice to meet you.” He returned the shake. “So how do I do this? You want my arm or something, or do you prefer to walk on your own?”
“I’ll take your elbow, if you don’t mind. That way, I can follow your lead.” She took his forearm, leaving her cane to the right.
“That works for me.”
They waited for the traffic signal to turn. “So, Tori, what do you do at the Smithsonian?” he asked.
“I…” she stammered. “How…”
“Your badge,” he tugged on it. “It’s hanging from your neck.”
“Ah. Yeah.” She placed her hand on it. “I do consulting as to how to make the exhibits more accessible for visitors with visual impairments. Right now, I’m curating an exhibition by artists who are visually impaired.”
“Well, that’s fascinating.”
“How about you? I’m sure you don’t spend your days rescuing blind women from being hit by cars.”
He chuckled and paused for a moment. “I’m an urban planner and landscape architect. I do a lot of civic spaces and government plazas. No artsy stuff.”
“There’s art in that,” Tori replied. “Any of your work I’d know of?”
“No, I haven’t been in the city long. Recently moved here from Indianapolis. I promise you, your job is much more interesting than mine is. If you don’t mind me asking, how do you work not being able to see?”
“It’s a lot of internet searching at first.” She began rattling off all the technology she used for her job.
“Interesting.” He paused for a moment as if he was debating on asking more. “I take it you haven’t always been blind?”
“No, I have not.” She didn’t like to elaborate. Sometimes, if she did, people put the pieces together about her and Donaghue.
That seemed to satisfy his curiosity. They chatted a little more about her job, which Tori was always willing to talk about. She took a lot of pride in her work.
“Well, I’d love to pick your brain on some ideas for my next project and how I could make it more accessible. Sounds like you know your stuff.”
They reached her complex. “Well, Connor it’s been nice to meet you,” Tori said. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again—hopefully, not so literally.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a business card, and handed it to him. “Here is my number. Call me if you ever want a consult.”
He was quiet as she assumed he examined the card. She’d just had those made with braille embossed on the back. “Braille. Nice touch.”
“You never know who you’re going to meet.” She raised her chin and flashed a wide, flirty smile. “Have a great evening, Connor.” She turned and went into her building, hoping he was watching her walk away.
As Tori went into the building, the concierge let her know she’d received a package. He handed her the box. It was lightweight and not too bulky. Her brow dipped. She wasn’t expecting anything.
“Does it say who it’s from?”
“Says it’s from Scott Harris.”
Of course. As if anyone else sent her packages.
Arriving home, she did her normal routine: lock the door, purse, sunglasses, and keys on the entry table, cane folded next to it.
She took the small box to her desk and grabbed her letter opener to cut the tape.
Scott Harris, what did you send this time?
She reached inside. It was a plastic bottle. Also inside was a letter in an envelope, embossed in braille. Read me.
Scott put a lot of thought into this, which was typical. She really needed to step up her gift giving. She unscrewed the lid to the bottle and sniffed it. Coconut. Rubbing it between her forefinger and her thumb, she confirmed it was lotion. There was also a smaller box inside the larger mailing package.
Tori pulled out the folded letter. He could have sent an email, but he took time to make it personal. Her heart warmed as the smell of his cologne hit her nostrils. She lifted it up and took a larger whiff of it and let that familiar scent wash over her.
She laid the note flat on her desk, and let her fingers rub over the raised dots. She still wasn’t fast reading braille, and she cursed herself for not practicing more. It was painstakingly slow. She had to backtrack several times, but she eventually got it.
Tori,
Inside, you will find three items. One is a first-class, round-trip airline ticket to Miami departing two weeks from today at 5:26PM. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport to take you to our destination. The second is a bottle of suntan oil, because you will want to work on your tan over the next few weeks to wear the third item.
Like Amsterdam, you can’t say no to this. The trip is all paid for. Consider this my repayment. Pack lightly; you won't need much clothing for what I have in store.
See you soon,
Scott
Tori pulled out the smaller box. The fabric was slick spandex, though not much of it. It was obviously a skimpy bikini. She felt the tag attached to it, and caught some more raised dots there, as well. Running her fingers over the braille dots on the tag, it read, P.S. It's red.