She decides on a shower, and to sleep again. However, the dream haunts her, but now she searches for his face and what she finds are those glowing eyes. Startled, she wakes up realizing she has put a face to her dream. Two months of dreams, walks, words, forehead kisses. She now has his entire face memorized—every eyelash, every curve, the crooked smile. He disappears every few weeks, a mystery. She is lost to his voice, his scent, his light touch. At work now she is told she will go soon to Keflavik, Iceland. Mortified, she waits to tell him. Days go by and he is not found. On her last night she quietly walks to their place of meeting, and as she sits, her thoughts drift to him, and her eyes dampen. "Don't cry for me, cutie," he says. He hears her heartbeat, the blood running through her veins, racing. He does not dare to come near her. She too is frozen, and feels almost as a prey. The dampness in her eyes has now formed a tear, which slowly makes its travel down her blushing. I don't bite." I take a deep breath and I shake my head but my feet disobey and begin walking over to the passenger side of his Ford Escape. I open the door and the fresh scent of smoke makes me wrinkle my nose in disgust. I sigh and I duck my head as I enter his car, sitting down. "See that wasn't to bad now was it?" The driver grins and I can't help but roll my eyes. I press the button on the door signaling for the window to roll down. I move my head to the fresh air and I breathe in the uncontaminated air. "Sorry about the smoke smell. I had a friend in here earlier and he just started chain smoking." I nod and I clench my hands over my thighs as memories threaten to reemerge to the surface. Chandler would always smoke almost two packs a day. He said it helped ease his conscience. He would hold me to his chest while he smoked, exhaling directly into my face. I shiver at the thought and I force back a cough. "I'm Ben, by the way." "Grace," I whisper, looking out the window as I see.
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