Daniel passed the old lady, careful not to jostle her. “Yeah, yeah,” he said to Luke, his best friend. “I’m on the escalator. I should be back at the condo in twenty minutes or so.” He stepped off of the moving stairs and strode over to the Metro platform, putting his phone away.
Looking up and over, he glanced at the passengers waiting to travel in the opposite direction.
She was on the other side of the Metro stop.
With a distinct snap, Daniel Sterling jumped back in time from his 35 year old self into his 12 year old self.
True, he was still waiting for the Washington DC Metro, and true, it was still the 21st century, but everything else was different.
As a young teen, he’d had a strong and passionate crush on the young Audrey Hepburn — her short cropped hair and boyish figure immortalized within the yellowed pages of a magazine decades old. She had been wearing flat shoes, tight pants that ended above her slender ankles, all topped with a large, white man’s shirt, the collar unbuttoned to display her lovely neck, the sleeves carelessly rolled up to just below the elbows. She displayed a unique elegance he hadn’t seen since... until this moment.
“Audrey!” He whispered under his breath and then shook his head to clear it. She was still there.
While exquisite and slender, this Audrey was clearly an adult. Mid- twenties? Maybe even older? Cropped close, her warm dark hair glinted in the dim light. Its severe cut displayed a jawline and graceful neck that should be declared a national treasure.
In a coincidence that had to be significant, like the photo from so long ago, she was wearing tight black pants—were they called leggings or something? A man’s large white formal shirt was untucked and fell mid-thigh. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing slender but strong, capable forearms. Automatically, he checked. Her fingers seemed to be bare.
Multi-colored paint was haphazardly streaked down the front of the white shirt. It looked as if she had wiped her hands down it absentmindedly. Even if he hadn’t just fallen violently in love, he would have been charmed by this indication of vulnerability.
He could tell from her posture that she was in flats. On her feet, rather than the staid black shoes he was expecting, he was entranced with her brightly painted canvas sneakers.
He tried to calculate her height using the wall behind her for comparison... maybe 5’3” or 5’4”? And slender... easily under 120 pounds.
From across the chasm of the train line, he watched as she answered her phone. She held it to her ear. Her lips didn’t move but the look of distaste on her face indicated that the call wasn’t welcome. She pulled the phone away, glanced at it, and dropped it into the large leather messenger bag that hung across her delicate frame. Rummaging in an outside pocket of the bag, she grabbed a small notebook and a pen, made a note, then tucked them away again. He was interested to see that she looked around, slowly. She was looking over everyone on her side of the platform. Hmmmmmm.
He waited and, as he expected, she began a careful perusal of everyone on his side, as well. Instinct had him look away, just before her gaze passed over him. An inner sense told him she was in trouble. He casually adjusted his briefcase and when he looked up again, she was staring intently at the other end of his platform.
He felt like he knew her intimately and could accurately read her body language. While she appeared at ease, the tight set of her shoulders indicated tension. He took the time to look over the waiting passengers on both sides of the stop. If he saw any of them again, he would know them.
Now he needed to find out what kind of trouble she was in and fix it for her.
At that moment, her train arrived and she disappeared from sight. The Metro pulled out, the platform was empty, and with a start he realized that while he knew her from his soul, he didn’t know her name. And... he hadn’t taken a picture of her.
Well, shit.