But I am, so it doesn’t.
I raise my eyebrows in acknowledgment of the joke and brace myself for more hilarity. “No, ha, very good. But yes, actually, she is gone. Which isn’t ideal. And now I have these.” I hold up her wallet and Chevrolet keys.
He nods, sagely, and points behind me. “I work across the street.” I turn to look at the glass and plant-wall-covered work unit opposite. “I’ve been watching your progress so far.” His smile turns sheepish, or, as sheepish as, I’m guessing, a former college athlete’s smile can ever really turn. I frown slightly at his confession but he counters with a light shrug. “Slow workday.”
He appears to be waiting for me to say something or maybe continue with my story but I have no desire, or time, to do that. I turn back to my note and re-wedge it firmly. “Well, thank you for your concern but I have to go.” I give him a tight smile as I grab my bag and root out my own car keys. “Running late.”
Undaunted by the brush-off or just oblivious to the nuances of British social interaction, he continues brightly.
“So what’s the plan? I’ll keep an eye out. Who are we looking for?”
We?
I suddenly wonder if I’m going mad. Is this guy really not reading my signals or am I losing my touch? I open my car door and turn back to him.
“Right, well…Um…？” I realize I don’t know his name, but he’s ahead of me.
“Nick.”
Of course. Of course, it would be something like Nick.
“Okay. Well, Nick, I appreciate your concern but I’ve left a note and everything is under control so we’re fine. Thank you.” I think there’s a firmness to my tone but, again, judging by Nick’s amused expression, somehow my desire for him to bugger off is still miraculously not getting through.
“Wait, so, you’re just leaving with this woman’s wallet and keys?”
I freeze momentarily, one leg in the footwell, one on the sidewalk. I suppose he’s right. I am leaving with her property, and actually I haven’t really waited that long. Put like that it doesn’t sound great. I retract my leg from the car and turn back to Nick.
“Yes, okay, I see your point. But I can’t stay any longer. I really do need to go. I’ve got another meeting. I’ve left a note with someone about the keys and wallet, they’re passing on my phone number, so it’s all sorted out. Okay?”
He raises his hands in casual defense. “Yeah, sure. Just trying to help. I’m sure you’ve got it covered.” He smiles gently. “I hope it all works out.” He studies me for another second before nodding and turning back up the street. I feel guilt rise inside me. The only person who’s genuinely tried to help me today and I’ve essentially told him to fuck off.
“Nick. Wait, sorry.” I call after him. He turns back to me, eyebrows raised. “You didn’t see her, did you? Earlier?”
He looks down for a second seeming to weigh the pros and cons of getting involved with the crazy British woman again. When he looks up his face is different somehow, serious for the first time.
“What did she look like?”
I’m not sure how to answer that. Not because I don’t know, I do, I would recognize her anywhere, but because the truth is she sort of looked like me, or every other woman that entered the building opposite his today. Shit.
“She was about my height, brown hair tied back, blouse, jeans, heels.”
He’s grinning again. “So exactly like you!”
I look down at my outfit and back up at him wryly. “Yeah.”
“Okay. It was a casting, right? Well, if it helps, I’m pretty sure I only saw you loitering around the cars. You’ve got a certain way about you.” His eyes crinkle around the edges again. “You’re quite…British-y.”