The First Man You Meet

If she was giving him the once-over, she discovered he was eyeing her, too. Apparently he was equally unimpressed. Her sweatshirt was a fluorescent orange and her jeans as tight as a second skin. Her ankle-high boots were black, her socks the same shade of orange as the sweatshirt. Her hair cascaded about her shoulders in a layer of dark frothy curls. Mark was frowning in obvious disapproval.

The wide glass doors at the mall entrance opened, and two paramedics hurried inside. Seconds later, when the ambulance arrived, two more medical people entered the building. Shelly was mortified that such a minor accident would result in all this attention.

The first paramedic knelt down in front of her while the second concentrated on Mark. Before she completely understood what was happening, her shoe was off and the man was examining her ankle. Mark, too, was being examined, a stethoscope pressed over his heart. He didn’t seem to appreciate the procedures any more than she did.

It wasn’t until he stood up that she realized how tall he was. Close to six-five, she guessed. A good match for her own five feet ten inches, she thought automatically.

It hit her then. Bull’s-eye. Aunt Milly’s letter had mentioned her standing beside a tall young man. Mark Brady was tall. Very tall. Taller than just about any man she’d ever met.

Aunt Milly’s letter had also said something about Shelly’s blue eyes. She’d ignored it at the time, but her eyes weren’t blue. They were hazel. Mark had blue eyes, though. The kind of vivid blue eyes women generally found striking… Nor could she forget her initial reaction to him. She’d been attracted. Highly attracted. It’d been a long while since a man had interested her this much. Until he stood, anyway. When she got one good look at him, she’d known immediately that they had nothing in common. Mark Brady probably didn’t own a single article of clothing that wasn’t blue, black or tan. Clearly the man had no imagination.

On a sudden thought, she glanced worriedly toward his left hand. No wedding ring. Closing her eyes, she sagged against the back of the bench and groaned.

‘‘Miss?’’ The paramedic was studying her closely.

‘‘Excuse me,’’ she said, straightening. She jerked impatiently on Mark’s suit jacket. He was involved in a conversation with the ambulance attendant who was interviewing him and didn’t turn around.

‘‘Excuse me,’’ she said again, louder this time.

‘‘Yes?’’ Mark turned to face her, his gaze impatient.

Now that she had his attention, she wasn’t sure she should continue. ‘‘This may sound like a silly question, but, uh…are you married?’’

He frowned again. ‘‘No.’’

‘‘Oh, no,’’ Shelly moaned and slumped forward. ‘‘I was afraid of that.’’

‘‘I beg your pardon.’’

‘‘Surely you’ve got a girlfriend—I mean, you’re a tall, handsome kind of guy. There’s got to be someone important in your life. Anyone? Please, just think. Surely there’s someone?’’ She knew she was beginning to sound desperate, but she couldn’t help it. Aunt Milly’s letter was echoing in her mind and all of last night’s logic had disappeared.

The four paramedics, as well as Mark, were staring at her. ‘‘Are you sure you don’t want to come to the hospital and talk to a doctor?’’ one of them asked gently.

Shelly nodded. ‘‘I’m sure.’’ Then before she could stop herself, she blurted out, ‘‘What do you do for a living?’’

‘‘I’m a CPA,’’ he answered wearily.

‘‘An accountant,’’ she muttered. She should have guessed. He was obviously as staid and dignified as he looked. And as boring. The type of man who’d probably never even heard of videos for entertaining bored house cats. He probably wouldn’t be interested in purchasing one, either.

Surely her aunt Milly couldn’t have seen Mark and Shelly together in her dream. Not Mark Brady. The two of them were completely ill-suited. A relationship between them wouldn’t last five minutes! Abruptly she reminded herself that she wasn’t supposed to be taking Aunt Milly’s prediction seriously.

‘‘May I go?’’ she asked the paramedic. ‘‘I’m not even bruised.’’

‘‘Yes, but you’ll need to sign here.’’

Shelly did so without bothering to read the statement. Mark, however, seemed to scrutinize every sentence. He would, of course.

‘‘Uh, Mark…’’ Shelly hesitated, and Mark glanced in her direction.

‘‘Thank you,’’ she said simply.

‘‘You’re welcome.’’

Still she delayed leaving.

‘‘You wanted something else?’’

She didn’t know quite how to say this, but she felt the need too strongly to ignore it. ‘‘Don’t take offense at this—I’m sure you’re a really great guy…. I just want you to know I’m not interested in marriage right now.’’

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