"You," Amy squeaked, then clamped her mouth shut to stifle her frustration at the unexpected encounter with Justin, the very person she had been waiting for.
Swiftly, before Justin could turn his attention to her, she feigned interest in rummaging through her oversized bag, veiling her face.
Oh goodness, why did her throat suddenly itch? Desperately attempting to suppress it, she couldn't prevent a substantial cough from escaping, inadvertently announcing her presence to Justin.
Justin, somewhat startled, turned to find a petite woman clutching a bag near her face, cowering in the corner of the elevator like a timid mouse.
He had initially believed himself to be alone upon entering the elevator, too preoccupied with his despondency over losing his enigmatic muse to pay much attention to his surroundings.
While her face remained obscured, her body certainly matched his preferences—a bit like that avocado he recalled.
Amy cautiously shifted her gaze to sneak a peek at Justin, ensuring he was engrossed elsewhere. Lowering her bag a tad further, she sought a better vantage point.
"He looks terrible," she thought, absolutely terrible. Worse, even, than their first encounter at the café. His hair was even more disheveled, and his clothes...
What had he been up to last night to end up so rumpled? An image of his Casanova escapades from the previous evening flickered in her mind.
He must have spent the night with someone, and by the looks of it, she must have kicked him out. Otherwise, that Casanova would never be caught dead in anything less than pristine, designer attire. Served him right.
At the very moment Justin was about to press the button for the eleventh floor, he turned to face Amy, who almost leaped in surprise. Instinctively, she smacked her bag right into her own face, producing a resounding thwack.
The price of maintaining her anonymity was excruciatingly painful. Heaven, that hurt.
"Damn you, Casanova. It's all your fault," she seethed.
"Hey," Justin asked somberly, eyeing the peculiar behavior of the woman in the elevator. "Which floor?"
Oh no, he expected a response? To safeguard her identity, Amy decided to employ her best impersonation of an elderly woman's voice.
"Eleventh floor," she said in a seductive tone.
Oh dear, that sounded just like his mysterious muse. Justin's eyes immediately snapped toward the woman who still concealed her face with her bag.
"Say that again?" Justin demanded, his curiosity piqued by the woman's voice. Could it be her?
Heaven help her! Had last night's passion so deeply affected her voice? She needed to sound hoarse if she wanted to maintain the ruse of being an elderly lady. Summon that croaky voice, Amy. Summon it now.
"Eleventh," she repeated, attempting the hoarse voice once more.
Oh dear, she botched it again.
By this point, Justin was convinced the woman sharing the elevator was hiding something from him, and he was willing to bet his life that he wasn't mistaken.
Drawing closer, he tried to catch a glimpse of her face, but every turn he made, she countered, successfully concealing her identity from him.
Amy sensed his unwavering gaze upon her. Justin was standing dangerously close. If he saw her face, she was convinced she'd be in for more of his relentless teasing.
She couldn't afford that, not at all. How could she shake him off? She wondered anxiously.
Clearly, maintaining her disguise by keeping the bag in front of her face throughout the elevator ride was an unsustainable strategy. Amy sensed that Justin would likely confront her at any moment, demanding to see her face.
Then, inspiration struck. She began to fake a fit of coughing, indirectly signaling to him to keep his distance, lest he risk catching her supposed virus.
Quickly, she reached into her bag and retrieved the clinical mask she typically carried for such occasions.
She also put on a pair of dark sunglasses. Her stage was set. So, when Justin's hand landed on her shoulder, turning her to face him, the expression on his face almost made her burst into laughter—it was just so comical.
Justin nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Amy dressed up as if she were infected with a deadly virus, complete with a clinical mask and sunglasses.
"Sorry, young man. Don't mind me. I just got a wee bit of a cold," she adopted her elderly lady voice. This time, it was spot-on. She hoped it sounded sickly enough to allay his suspicions. "Best to stay away."
Amy's plan worked. Justin wedged himself as far away as possible from the "infected" lady, pressed against the opposite wall of the small elevator.
"It must be his imagination," he thought. He must have been obsessing so much over his mysterious goddess that her voice played on repeat in his head.
That's why he found the lady in the mask so intriguing. But try as he might, even after she claimed to have a cold, he couldn't keep his eyes off her.
He could maintain his physical distance, but his eyes had a mind of their own. She resembled that avocado so much—similar height, same hair color.
Apart from the voice that initially resembled his goddess, this lady screamed "avocado." But how could the avocado be here? This was Queenstown, not Chicago.
Through her shaded sunglasses, Amy could see Justin looking at her again. "You like what you see, young man?" She couldn't resist teasing, flipping the script on the Casanova who usually used this line on his female admirers. She grinned at her clever idea.
Justin tried to stop himself from entertaining any inappropriate thoughts about the lady. What on earth was wrong with him? He was being hit on by an elderly lady with some kind of virus.
Instead of telling her to stay away, he simply smiled a gentle smile and turned back toward the elevator door.
"He smiled at me," Amy thought, surprised. Justin, the infuriating man she constantly referred to as Casanova, had actually smiled at her, and it was a genuinely kind smile, not his usual flirtatious "I want you in my bed" grin. Strangely, she realized she didn't like him smiling at her at all. With her mask on and in the confines of the small elevator, she found it difficult to breathe.
Amy struggled to control her breathing when a sudden jolt brought the elevator to a halt, causing her to collide with Justin. In that instant, he instinctively wrapped his arms around her to prevent her from hitting the wall.
Amy was so frightened by the unexpected turn of events that she clung to Justin's neck for dear life.
"What was that?" she asked, her voice trembling, losing its disguised tone.
"Damn, it must be the elevator stopping again," Justin replied, his gaze fixed on the masked face behind the sunglasses, acutely aware of the sudden shift in pitch and tone. It was as if she were speaking in a completely different voice.
Their eyes locked, and suddenly, nothing else seemed to matter. Something in the atmosphere shifted.
The scent of peaches and orange blossoms enveloped them. The lady smelled just like his mysterious goddess from the previous night.
bump! bump! bump!