Alexey

The blood warmed my skin. Panic splashed like icy water. I stood in line at the cafe, my new white skirt clinging treacherously to my back. Humiliation paralyzed me. All around me—laughter, glances, judgment.

Suddenly, I felt movement nearby. A tall, broad-shouldered figure, he always seemed the embodiment of menace to me. Alexey, from the parallel office, a sworn rival. We'd been waging a fierce battle for the same contract for months.

He came close, shielding me from prying eyes. "You have... a spot," he whispered, almost imperceptibly. "Yes, I see it," I forced out through clenched teeth, steeling myself.

Alexey took off his jacket, a dark blue one, dear. "Here," he handed it to me, not looking me in the eye. "Tie it around your waist. I'll pay for your coffee, and you go to the restroom."

I picked up the jacket, not believing my senses. Its scent—tart, like an autumn forest—was somehow calming. While I was tying the jacket, he, with his back to the line, was saying something to the cashier, distracting my attention.

In the restroom, I sobbed with relief. But most of all, I cried with relief at the realization that help had come from a place I'd expected anything but sympathy. Winning the tender began to seem so petty and insignificant. The enemy turned out to be human. And perhaps not so much of an enemy after all.