He was late for a very important meeting. Like most people who always feel like an elevator is taking an eternity to arrive, he pounded impatiently on the down button, even though he—like most people—knew that the constant pressing of that button did nothing to hurry the damn thing along.

Finally! He stepped toward the elevator door and started through it before it was even fully open. And fell into her arms. She was tall for a woman . . . five foot nine inches; of course, that included the four inches provided by her red patent leather heels.

“Hey, Big Boy, take it easy,” she laughed as he righted himself, apologizing as he did so. She waved it off, they locked eyes, hers flashing green, his piercing blue. Each of them saw something they liked. But there were no more words spoken. They rode the elevator to ground level in silence—the silence interrupted only by the sound of electricity crackling through the air all around them.

The elevator doors opened and with a slight tip of his head toward the woman, he invited her to walk out first. He felt as if he was inviting her right out of his life. New York City was a big place. He realized that, if he didn’t say something fast, he would never see her again. As he followed her out, he managed to open his mouth. “Excuse me. But I have to say this. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I want nothing more from you than dinner. Tonight. Would you please join me?” He realized he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. She had gorgeous auburn hair, with long layers that moved when she did and with some lighter strands that caught and held the sunlight. Green eyes that made him think of the green flash he was sometimes fortunate enough to catch on the horizon when he ran the beach in the early dawn hours. And a figure to die for.

The red-headed woman hesitated. She wanted to, really, but he was a complete stranger. Granted, a sexy one, dark wavy hair just long enough to play with, that made his blue eyes pop. She noticed the crow’s feet at the outside corners of his eyes—laugh lines, her ma always called those. He wore them well; they made his baby blues twinkle in a most delectable way. He was, she guessed, about six feet tall and had broad shoulders. And what a smile! Oh yes, he was a very good-looking stranger, but a stranger all the same. She had to think about it.

A heartbeat later, she was handing him her business card. She smiled shyly and said, “Later. Maybe.”

And that was good enough for him.

She turned, going in the direction opposite of that which he needed to go. Which was a good thing, because it gave him the opportunity to check out her backside. A nice one at that. She wasn’t particularly small but she was well-proportioned. Her red skirt stopped fashionably just below her knees, fitted like a second skin everywhere but at the last few inches where the material flared out and flounced with every swing of her hips. Hips moving with a rhythm that caused his heart to pound as hard as he’d pounded that elevator button. His breathing took on her rhythm. She had only gone about five feet or so when a gust of wind blew the flared material up just enough to give him a teasing glimpse of a beautiful pair of long legs. Legs that went on forever . . . in his mind.

For her part, she was hoping that her stride did not look as wobbly as she felt. She had never had such a strong reaction to a man before. If he had been able to read her mind right then, he might have been shocked to know that she had already taken him to bed . . . in her mind.

She felt a powerful urge to turn around and look back in his direction, so she did. And caught him checking out her backside. It was easy to see that he liked what he saw. She pushed to the side the strands of liquid fire that the wind had blown across her face and gave him one of those looks. And that was all he needed.

As he was walking to where she stood, he took his cell phone from his pocket and called his secretary. “Anna, please cancel all my appointments for this afternoon and tomorrow morning as well. Yes, Anna, even the meeting that I was on my way to. Relay my apologies to Mr. Brodent; explain that something—something out of my control—has just come up.”

Twenty minutes later, they were seated across from each other at a little bistro on the Upper East Side. She kicked off her heels and rotated her feet and ankles to stretch out the poor muscles that had been restrained in those heels all day. As they talked between glasses of Dom Perignon and bites of elegant hors d’oeuvres, she let her bare foot play with the hem of his trouser. She worried briefly if this was a corny thing to do (maybe I’ve watched too many movies), but it felt natural. Besides, he didn’t seem to mind at all. She told herself this was truly silly, maybe even ridiculous, but she felt that she could have sat that way . . . with this man . . . forever.

While it wasn’t “forever,” they had in fact been talking, eating and drinking and talking some more, for hours. Then, surprising herself as much as him, she suddenly leaned forward and gave him the sweetest kiss he’d ever had the pleasure to experience. His response was fast and said “definitely interested,” but he broke it off and pulled away.

For one second, she thought she’d made a horrible mistake, that she had been too forward. Then, without ever taking his eyes from her face, he stood, pulled his wallet from his trouser pocket, and laid two one-hundred dollar bills down on the table. He walked around to her chair and knelt down before her. Still looking at her face, his hands reached under the table and came out with her shoes. She swiveled frontward and allowed him to put them back on her feet.

Oh boy, I am in trouble now, she thought, as she took the hand he’d proffered and stood to face him. They left the bistro, hand-in-hand, her long red curls resting on his broad shoulder.

“Where to?” she asked.

“My place,” he answered, as he hailed a taxi. “I guess we ought to know each other’s names. I’m Luke.”

“Lisa,” she offered.

They rode the rest of the way without speaking and without tension. When they exited the taxi and walked the few feet to his door, they knew where this night was going.

Inside, the first thing Lisa did was take off her jacket. The first thing Luke did was put on some music. Oldies . . . a good sign. He poured them each a drink. After having spent a number of hours talking at the bistro, they were down to small talk amid short bouts of comfortable silence. He sat on the cool leather sofa, resting one arm on the back cushion. An open invitation for her to sit and snuggle. An invitation she readily accepted.

Then she heard the opening bars from one of her favorite songs from the 50’s, Sleepwalk. She found the music from the 50’s and 60’s to be some of the most romantic and, while she couldn’t always figure out why, certain songs really got her blood boiling. This was one of those. Sleepwalk, with its vibrating strings and humming electric slide, always made her want to dance. Feeling more than hearing the sounds, she was getting into that dreamy mood, realizing there was nothing she wanted more right that minute than to be in his arms. Taking his glass from his hand, she put both glasses down on the coffee table. This time, it was she that took his hand, and without any resistance, he stood and put his arms around her. The dance had begun.

As they danced, his eyes locked on her face; her eyes explored every inch of his head, his face. And as she stared into his piercing blue eyes, her breath caught in her throat. When she recovered, she shared her breath with him in one sweet kiss before leaning into his chest. They slowly swayed and dipped to the rest of her favorite song, nerve endings vibrating as surely as the strings in that song. And only after the strings of Sleepwalk gave up its final soulful sound did he take her hand and lead her to his bed.

She heard an old familiar voice. “Good morning, darlin’ . . . what are you doing up so early?” he asked as he bent and gently kissed the top of her head. She was sitting on the balcony, watching the sunrise, hands holding a hot cup of tea, long legs crossed, bare feet pointing toward the ocean. She hesitated only a second before she turned toward him and with a smile, said, “Oh, just reminiscing.”

With twinkling blue eyes edged with deep crow’s feet and the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen, he straightened his now slightly less than six-foot frame. He put both hands to the small of his back and treated his sore muscles to a deep rub.

She looked up at him and smiling, reached for his hand, thinking how much she loved him, and how a chance encounter in an elevator had changed both their lives forever.

She stood, and with their arms resting easily around each other’s waist, they walked back into the living room. Mid-way across the room, he stopped and turned her gently so that she was facing him. He put one hand on her shoulder and, with a slight tilt of his head—topped now with silver hair but still full and on the longish side—he raised his other hand out in front of her, silently saying, “Stay right there.” And without question, she did.

She watched with loving eyes as he walked to the entertainment center. She was thinking how handsome he still was, all these years later. As he walked back to her, the soulful sounds of Sleepwalk drifted through the room and over them. She smiled that soft smile and melted into his familiar arms. And they danced in the early morning light.

As they danced, he couldn’t help but notice that her green eyes flashed, and how the silver strands in her red hair caught and held the sunlight. He still thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Emily Gmitter.

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