Mr.Right

At many points in my life, I've blurted out words and later realized I should have kept them to myself. Even if it meant choking on them.

This is one of those situations.

But the words are already out in the open and all I can do now is face whatever Maverick says next. The only problem is, he's not saying anything.

"Erm... This is- This is the part where you tell me what you think about what I just said." I break the uncomfortable silence.

"I know." He runs his hand over his face before dropping it into his lap. "It's just... Allowing you to stay at my house was the biggest favor I could ever do for you. I didn't know it would come with extra tasks. 'Help you become a woman'? What does that even mean?"

His words slice through me like a sword and I feel like I'm a nothing once more.

"You think this is a task? Am I bothering you?" My voice doesn't sound steady and he seems to notice this because his eyes soften.

"That's not what I meant."

"But that's what you were implying," I press.

"Stop reading obscure meanings in everything I say."

"So are you agreeing to help me?" I know I'm being stubborn right now, but I can't seem to help it.

He shakes his head. "I never said that."

"So you won't help me."

"Oh, April! Look, I never said that either."

I begin to feel annoyed. "Then what are you saying?"

He doesn't get time to reply before a deafening honk causes us to flinch apart. The car's headlights shine brightly into the night and I can see the person in the driver's seat.

"Are you two lost?" the man calls out of the window. He's middle-aged, with a rich British accent that sounds like music to my ears.

Maverick gets to his feet and walks towards the car. "Yes, actually. My car's battery went dead and we've been looking for help for hours. Is there any chance you're headed to Minneapolis?" The man grins. "Today's your lucky day. I usually drive straight to St. Paul, since it's the closest place from here, but I'm going home to my family this evening. Hop in, chaps!"

I spring up from the chair like a jack-in-a-box and Maverick opens the car door for me.

I tug at Maverick's sleeve once we're at the back seat of the car, feeling the hum of the engine beneath me.

"How can we be sure he's not a kidnapper?" I ask quietly, scanning every nook and cranny, with my eyes narrowed.

Maverick stares out of the window. "How optimistic of you to ask."

I'm not entirely sure if that's sarcasm.

"But he's not," he continues, still not looking at me, "so you can calm down. He's a military man." Maverick nods his head in the direction of the passenger's seat, where the man's briefcase is lying. A military ID card rests on it and I give a sigh of relief.

"You look knackered*, young lady," says the man in the driver's seat, catching sight of my expression. "I won't be surprised if you fall asleep halfway to Minneapolis."

I smile at the British slang he uses as it sounds so foreign to my ears. I've always admired British accents.

"You're right about that, sir. I'm definitely off to Bedfordshire* as soon as I get home." I try to mimic his accent, but it doesn't go so well, earning a stifled snigger from Maverick.

The man nods seriously. "You should definitely get some sleep after this. It's enough to wear anyone out."

"Oh, well, Bob's your uncle*!" I say, in the same voice. "You truly get me!"

More stifled laughter erupts from Maverick but the man doesn't seem to notice. He's focused back on the road.

"I'd rate that accent as two out of ten," Maverick says in an undertone, just so I can hear him.

"Blimey*! That's a pretty low rating for an accent as fluent as mine."

He stares at me for a moment before we both burst out laughing, getting a concerned glance in the rearview mirror from the man at the driver's seat.

The British man was right, though. Halfway to Minneapolis, I was already dozing off, resting my head on the window, which kept vibrating as the car hit several potholes. It wasn't very comfortable.

We both say our goodbyes to the man when he drops us off at the bus stop and zooms off in the opposite direction.

"What's going to happen to your car? We left it back there," I say as Maverick and I walk down the street towards the penthouse.

"I'll figure that out later." He walks ahead of me while I follow, hugging my jacket close to my body as I kick at the snow on the ground. Kicking at snow - that's another habit that's been with me since I was eight.

I try to keep up with his long strides, but I hesitate as my eyes catch something to my right.

It's a young couple in a restaurant.

I see the guy give his girlfriend something like a chocolate, which she accepts shyly and pops into her mouth.

He looks at her expectantly for a few seconds, as if wanting her to figure something out. But then the girl's face contorts into confusion and she spits something gold into her hand.

It's a ring.

Without warning, my eyes fill with tears. The girl's crying too, sobbing into her boyfriend's shoulder as he hugs her.

But my tears are different to hers.

Hers are tears of joy, while mine are... tears of sorrow?

"April?" I hear Maverick come up beside me and feel him follow my gaze.

"He proposed the same way," I say quietly, sniffing a little bit. "Except mine was a sapphire ring. I just hope their relationship doesn't end the same way mine did."

There's a moment of pause as Maverick figures out that I mean Tony. Then his shoulders slump.

"I'll help you," he says.

It takes a minute for his words to register to my brain but, when they do, my head snaps up. "You will?"

"You heard me the first time. Don't make me change my mind." A serious expression is plastered over his face.

I raise my head higher to search his features and, when my eyes find what I'm looking for, I can't help but smile.

He smiles back at me as a pleasant wind blows into my hair.

A soft music is heard from inside the restaurant and, although I quite like the melody, there's something else occupying my mind. Actually, it's more like someone else.0000