Charlie's Angel

1

 I saw a flash of light brown skin—almost yellow, if you ask me—and before I knew it, I was sitting down at a table in front of him. He looked up from his phone and looked at me curiously before digging his hand into his pocket.

I didn't know him; he didn't know me. I wanted to keep it that way. The less people I came in contact with, the better for everyone.

As expected, I felt dozens of eyes staring holes into me from surprise and shock. In their defense, I did just burst through the front door of a restaurant with my child. I panicked and went to the first table I could find, which happened to belong to this guy. I was out of breath and shaking, and my child's eyes were wide-eyed and wet, but curious. I ducked my head and avoided eye contact.

He, the very reason I was running, stormed past the window without stopping. He was yelling my name, screaming obscenities. Cursing the name of our child. He was calling out to me, "Charlie! You can't run from me forever!"

As the guy looked between me and my husband that ran past the window, I kept my head away so no one could see my face from the other side of the tinted windows. But I knew the gears in his head were turning.

"Is your little girl hungry?" The guy spoke, making me jump. I looked at him and he showed me a cute smile.

I shook my head hastily, held her closer to me. He didn't look the least bit angry that some random girl and her toddler were sitting at his table, hiding from someone. If anything, he looked intrigued, but also as if something like this has happened to him before.

He chuckled at me. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He said it genuinely, innocently. But I didn't trust him. I knew better than to trust a man, especially one I just met.

"What about you? Are you hungry?"

My head was shaking again. A waitress approached our table. "Ma'am, are you alright? Do you need any help?"

I shook my head again. The guy smiled at her. "No, she's with me. Thank you."

The girl, with long brown hair and a cute dimples, looked unsure but nodded and walked away.

I stared at the man, glared. "I'm not with you. I don't know you."

He laughed at me, sipped something from his mug. "You sure are a charmer, huh?" he teased. "You're right, I don't know you. But you sat at my table, which means you and your little girl are my responsibility."

"Paris."

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Her name. Paris."

What are you doing?!

He smiled down at her and she returned it. "Well, that's a nice name for a pretty little girl." He stuck out a hand. "I'm Christopher. Call me Chris."

Chris...it fit him. It was perfect for him, actually. I knew he was a nice guy, with those big, beautiful, brown eyes. The light splattering of freckles across his cheeks, that he probably hated, but I loved them already. When he smiled, there was a tooth that was overlapping the one next to it. It was cute, but maybe that was what caused his tiny little lisp? I think I fell in love with his tattoos the most, though. He had one on his right hand, but it led to another one and I figured he had a lot under his shirt. I could only imagine what he did for a job. Oh, and he had dimples that would make any girl go weak in the knees.

I shook his hand. "Do I get the pleasure of knowing your name?"

I shook my head, yet again. I was doing that too much.

"Well," he trailed, looking me over and biting his bottom lip, "I think I'll call you Mystery." He winked at me, showed a smile. His hand dug into his pocket again and put his wallet on the table. "You're running, aren't you?"

I said nothing.

"Is he hurting you?"

I gulped.

"Aight," he chuckled. He flipped through his wallet and pulled out a little white card. He slid it across the table to me. "Please use this if you need help."

I stared at him, wondering why he was being so nice to me. He knew nothing about me, not even my name. And vise versa, only I knew his first name. But it was weird, I felt like I knew this guy. Not that he looked familiar, I just felt comfortable around him. Like I could let my guard down, just the tiniest bit.

"I have to go pick up my nephew from daycare. We're going to the park later, if you and your little girl want to join us."

No, don't leave. I need you to help me.

He started to slide out of the booth and put his wallet back in his pocket. "Oh," he snapped his fingers. "You can run all you want. Just make sure you don't run from the wrong one." With one last smile, he pushed through the door and into the hot summer day.

...don't run from the wrong one.

What did he mean by that?

I shook it off, thinking it was nothing, and apprehensively shoved his card in my pocket.

I looked over at Paris and her eyes were still wet. I didn't want her to see what she saw between me and her father, but unfortunately she did. She was still shaking. "You hungry?"

"Yes, Mommy," she said quietly, as if she was afraid to speak. "Are you sad?"

"No, baby. Mommy's okay," I murmured.

I just wished I didn't have to lie to my daughter.