For A Reason

Chapter 1: Blue Sky

October 2019

"Please don't forget to pick up diapers on your way home," I remind my husband, Jeremiah, as I scramble to put my shoes on. His sandy blonde hair is tousled from sleep, and his sapphire eyes glisten in the dimly lit bedroom. We're up before the sun, and though it's a normal occurrence, his eyes are still bloodshot with exhaustion. Having a seven-month-old will do that to you.

He looks at me knowingly as he takes a sip of coffee from his tumbler.

He shakes his head at me, and rolls his eyes. "I won't," he assures me. Moving towards me, he places his large, tan hands on my hips, and gives me a peck on my forehead. He's always been a more lean build; his tall frame towers over me by almost two additional feet, but I've always liked tall men anyway.

I look up at him, my brown eyes full of expectation and hopefulness. I've had to get our daughter ready by myself every day for the past several weeks, so I'm anticipating his chivalrous offer to get her dressed and prepared for once.

He doesn't seem to notice. "Love you," comes the low tenor of his voice, and he's out the door, leaving me to handle Audrey by myself yet again.

I quickly throw my make-up on and head to Audrey's room to get her up and dressed. The blush curtains that adorn the windows add a pink hue through the room as the sun begins to rise. I pull them aside, leaving the sheer panels in place.

"Good morning baby girl," I coo as Audrey stirs in her crib. "It's time to wake up and go to grandma's!" I say softly but eagerly in hopes she will be in a good mood this morning.

She is, and she pushes up on her hands and knees to rock back and forth, grinning at me from ear to ear.

I smile back at her, my heart fluttering with love for this little human I've created. She is literally the air in my lungs.

After getting Audrey situated at her grandmother's, I kiss the top of my daughter's curly, brown hair and wave goodbye to Jeremiah's mom, Carol, as I back out of her driveway.

***

The drive to the office in Atlanta is only thirty minutes from my house, but traffic makes it about an hour. I'm used to the horrible driving and road rage as I was born and raised in this crazy city.

My mother always hated the city. When I was in high school, she moved my older sister and I up to Helen, Georgia, which is about two hours north. I remember hating her for it because I had to leave all of my friends behind. Helen is a nice town, but old and historic. It has all of the characteristics of a small town, like gossip and judgmental old ladies, but with better landmarks. When I graduated, I immediately left it all behind, but I was just fine with that because I was more than ready to start my new, creative life as an independent college student.

My phone lights up and a soft ding alerts me that I have a new text. I glance down, just briefly, to check who it is.

Have a great day. Reads the text. Jeremiah.

In my curiosity, I almost plow into the car in front of me but I stop myself, slamming my foot down onto the brake and coming to a halt just mere inches from the silver BMW ahead of me. The smell of burnt rubber accompanies the sound of my screeching tires, and my heart thumps loudly in my ears.

"That was close," I mumble to myself, embarrassed, as I palm my forehead. There's no way the person in that car didn't notice.

A man in a navy suit with a pinstripe tie and wavy, chestnut-brown hair steps out of the car.

I immediately go rigid. I hate confrontations. I smile sheepishly through the window as the man approaches my black Nissan. He stops by the driver's door and I roll my window down reluctantly, already preparing an apology for my careless behavior.

"What were you doing? Texting?" The man asks sarcastically, leaning down into my window with one hand on top of the car. He has small stubble across his sharp jawline, and I get a hint of birch and pineapple fragrance from him. The waves of his bronze hair are pushed back messily, and he reaches his other hand up to run a hand through it. His tailored suit fits him comfortably and his demeanor just screams 'successful'.

Upon closer look, I suddenly notice that he's wearing a Blue Sky Agency tag.

"Have you worked there long?" I inquire, bypassing his snarky comment.

The man glances down at his small rectangular pin. Blue Sky is an advertising agency located in downtown Atlanta, and it just so happens to be the place where I work.

"It's my first day," he replies, an award-winning smile lighting up his features. I feel my cheeks warm again, but this time it's due to his gaze. He's very handsome. "I assume you're an employee as well?" His hazel eyes dance in the sunlight, and I find myself sucking on my bottom lip; a nervous habit.

"Yes, I'm the Creative Director," I finally answer, and his lips turn up in amusement.

I ignore his wry smile, and his equally perforate gaze. "Now if you'll excuse me, I don't want to be any later than I already am." I realize I sound a little rude, especially since I almost rammed into his expensive car. "Sorry about before." I tack on, and he chuckles, a low gruff sound, and backs away from my car, his eyes still boring into mine.

"Maybe I'll see you around?" He suggests, one of his thick eyebrows raising.

He's still wearing that stupid smirk.

"Not likely," I retort, and this time he laughs.