A Symptom of Love (GERI Labs #1)

1. Eleanor

1

Eleanor

Present Day

I t’s perfectly fitting that she finds herself in a guy’s lap. A complete stranger. At an airport. Far away from home. Her bare thighs—because she just had to wear shorts—are resting perfectly on his jean-clad, unyielding—if she may add—quads.

Who wears shorts for a transatlantic flight in the middle of winter?

She does, apparently.

Last thing she remembers, she was sprinting to the one open seat next to the charging station. Her laptop was on its last breath before dying on her, and desperately needed charging. The terminal was already full of people blocking the hallways. But in a heroic attempt to save a battery, she decided to go for it. She recalls dismissing a “Watch out!” warning behind her, assuming it was someone speaking to their kid. Her way was wide open, relatively speaking, she was almost there… But her legs bumped into something. Perhaps the warning had been addressed to her after all?

Was that a suitcase? Who puts a goddamn suitcase in the middle of the path to the charging station?

Oh, and she does remember losing her balance, trying to grab on to something, anything to stop her from crashing to the floor, expecting it to hurt. Then, as if time slowed down, she had a chance to hope they’d have a reasonable first aid station nearby and that her laptop would survive the fall in one piece, as she hadn’t backed up her work for… hmm… twenty-four hours. Because brilliant her had to disable the auto-save feature. Of course. Then the airport around her was spinning, or maybe she was spinning. Until everything came to a complete stop, quite abruptly. And it didn’t feel all too bad. It felt kind of nice actually.

No pain? That’s a first.

She was about to check if she was bleeding, broken, or dead when she realized she’d quite literally fallen into someone’s lap.

To her defense, dropping violently onto an unsuspecting bystander who was waiting peacefully for his flight was nowhere near her intention; nor was landing with her hands on his wall-of-a-muscle-chest.

Yet… here she is. Still in his lap. Brainstorming how to fix this awkward situation. Not the fastest approach perhaps, but brainstorming is what she does, day in, day out. Albeit, usually with the company of some other scientists, not in her own vacuum, and absolutely not while indulging in thigh-to-thigh contact with a stranger. Maybe that’s why it’s not working very well for her this time.

Overthinking it? It’s starting to feel that way.

She should just apologize. Yes, he would understand, it’s a perfectly reasonable, common situation at airports… right?

“I’m sorry.” Eleanor finally manages to assemble the words together and use her actual voice, trying not to turn her head to face the guy, because of the zero distance she’s inflicted upon him. As awkward as it is already, it could definitely turn awkward-er if she turns her head now.

Yet, she can’t resist.

And this indescribably handsome man is staring right back at her. Zero distance and all. And he smells heavenly too. At an airport. Where people like her get off a night flight and don’t bother brushing their teeth. Well, had she predicted this situation in advance, she would have stopped somewhere between connecting flights and frantic terminal running, for a quick mouth rinse before storming into the terminal.

“Are you okay?” A deep voice rumbles through her. He can speak, too. Perfect English. Deep, beautiful blue eyes are looking at her, concerned.

She is surely delusional; it must be the fall. This is not real.

She shuts her eyes, letting his obviously unrealistic fresh-out-of-shower scent wash over her. She opens them again, taking a concerned peek in the direction where those blue eyes were staring at her before.

He’s still there.

“Your nose is bleeding.” That voice again. A tissue is delivered quickly to her nose. A hand brushes a strand of hair away from her face, setting it gently behind her ear. It feels nice.

What?

His fingers trace her forehead.

Checking for bruises?

She looks down to her legs and sees a slightly bruised knee, maybe a tiny cut. Wearing shorts on an international flight while completely ignoring her mom’s warnings that airports and airplanes tend to be cold might not have been a smart decision. Eleanor did feel a little cold earlier, come to think of it—but she doesn’t feel cold anymore, she actually feels warm and snug right now.

Maybe a bit too warm…

Her consciousness finally re-establishes connection with the world. “I’m okay.” Eleanor’s voice sounds rusty as she shakes herself from her reverie. “Sorry if I crushed you.” She reluctantly untethers her body from his lap and situates herself in the seat beside him. The plastic feels cold and unwelcome on the back of her thighs, her body already protesting. She takes possession of the tissue held to her nose, her fingers grazing his and a light shiver trailing down her spine.

She must have a concussion. A severe one.

“You didn’t crush me.” He sounds somewhat amused.

Oh, thank God.

Judging by his thighs and arm muscles that she had just been so comfortably attached to, it would take much more than her full-falling body weight to crush him. He’s not an easily crushable guy, it appears.

And thankfully not easily annoyed.

“Thank you.” She realizes she hasn’t expressed her gratitude yet. “For catching me.”

“Careful next time.” Concern is still laced on his handsome face. “Let me see your nose,” he orders, and she dares look deeper into these eyes again. They’re absolutely her favorite shade of blue. “I think the bleeding has stopped,” he informs her, and she realizes she’s left her right hand in his space bubble, still clutching his arm.

That’s a hell of a concussion…

But she’s made it to the charging station. The last free charging station at their gate, before her final destination.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The blue-eyed stranger asks again, this time with less concern but it does sound like he actually cares for some unknown reason.

“I think so,” she responds, pulling her hand back to her side as nonchalantly as possible. An impossible move when her hand is shaking.

Cold? Hungry? Or worried about her laptop?

Yes, that must be it, her laptop!

The laptop that desperately needed charging. Which is why she was running to begin with. Did it survive the crash landing safely? She reaches for her backpack, which fell at the guy’s feet, pulls out her precious laptop and opens it. It turns on… It’s working! She quickly hooks it up to the charger.

“Thank goodness.” Eleanor gives out a loud sigh of relief. The man who’s just saved her life slowly shakes his head.

“What?” She gives him a side look. “My life’s work is on this thing!”

He furrows an eyebrow at her, battling a smile. It’s a gorgeous look on him.

Why is she even noticing all these details about a stranger in the airport whom she knows absolutely nothing about?!

Must be the concussion.

“Did I hit my head?” She tries for an ordinary, conversational tone.

“No,” says the man beside her.

“No?” Double-checking is important, especially when the less-desired option is the one you get.

“No, you did not,” he reassures her, shaking his head.

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Oh.” She can’t hide her disappointment. “It was a solid rationale.” Like when a lab experiment doesn’t yield the expected results and one realizes they forgot to add an essential reagent. Annoying, yes, but at least explainable, potentially salvageable and does not warrant the need to kill a perfectly good hypothesis.

Not the case now though—she’s going to need to come up with another hypothesis to explain this strange collection of symptoms that her mush of a brain is experiencing. She’s at a loss.

“Rationale for what?” he asks, confused.

Of course she had to say it out loud.

“Symptoms…” And better keep it at that.

“You did hit your nose with your hand when you were trying to gain your balance.” Those blue eyes study her face, followed by a large, warm hand assessing the bridge of her nose. A pleasant buzz goes through her. “But it looks fine, nothing’s broken.”

“Yes, typical me.” Must be the third time this week she’s bumped into something.

Not into someone though…

He gives her a pointed look before he says, “And your knee. I should have a band-aid somewhere.” Reaching out to his backpack, he retrieves one and gently applies it to the little cut on her knee.

Is it possible to get a concussion without hitting her head? It’s the only reasonable explanation for what’s happening to her right now. She should definitely Google it later.