Season's Greetings : Christmas Box Set

“You will not hurt her.”

“Sam.” I stumble over the chair, gripping his bicep. “Please look at me.” I dig my fingers in. His eyes flick toward me. “Yes. Focus on me. I’m okay.”

“You’re not hurt?” His voice is flat, but I sense the question that was implied.

“No. Please let him go. Security will take care of him.” I press my body against his. “Please.”

“Jesus Christ. Look at the size of that guy.”

“Did you see him lift that guy like he was nothing?”

“He’s scarier than the guy who just went off.”

Whispers go up around us. Sam glances around, face growing red. He lowers the man, and security pounces, handcuffing him and taking him to the ground. Kneeling, they hold him immobile.

“Thank you for your assistance, sir.” An officer touches Sam’s arm, and he flinches.

“H-How about we take a little walk?” I lick my lips, unsure of how Sam will respond.

He nods, and I take him away from the insanity unfolding around us. I powerwalk, working out what to say.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Sam peers down at me, genuinely confused.

“Saving me back there.”

“You needed help. You’re tiny, and the man was immense. He could’ve hurt you. I didn’t want to see you hurt.”

My heart warms. I feel myself softening toward him. He put himself in harm’s way for me.

Don’t read too much into it, Delta. He probably would’ve done it for anyone. Suddenly self-conscious, I drop my hand. He must think I’m so clingy. I shove my hands into my pockets, unsure what else to do with them.

“Feeling calmer?” I study his face. His face lacks expression, but his eyes are alive in a way most peoples aren’t. The anger from earlier has faded, replaced by a deep intelligence.

“Yes.”

“We should give them more time to clear up the mess. Then we’ll go back. What do you think of that plan?”

“It’s acceptable.”

After slowly walking the length of the B Gate in comfortable silence, we make our way back to our things.

People rush over to us. He walks away, and the crowd parts like the Red Sea.

“Are you okay, honey? We made sure no one touched your stuff,” a kindly, white-haired woman asks.

“I’m fine, ma’am.”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” The salt and pepper haired man beside her gestures toward Sam.

“What?” I wrinkle my nose, offended for him. “No.” Their assumptions piss me off.

“We all noticed that one is a little off,” the woman agrees, lowering her voice.

“There is nothing off about him,” I defend him, taken back to another time and another boy who’d been continuously misunderstood.

The woman hums. “I know he saved you,” she says in a patronizing tone, “but a young girl traveling alone should look out for herself. Don’t let gratitude blind you. That one’s odd.”