The Warm Breath of Autumn
The director called Eleanor into his office, and his sweet secretary, Emily, pulled a face as if to say, *Good luck with that.*
“Hurry up, the boss is fuming. What did you do this time?” Emily whispered, worried—they got on well, though Eleanor was eight years her senior.
“No idea, honestly,” Eleanor murmured, heading toward the office, already guessing—*another business trip, then.*
Her role often took her to the company’s branch in another city. She couldn’t think of anything *she’d* done to upset the boss, but someone else must’ve bungled things.
“Good morning, Mr. Harrison,” she said as she stepped inside.
“Mmm,” he grunted, barely glancing up, jerking his chin toward the chair.
She sat stiffly while he leafed through a contract, muttering now and then, “Right, mess and nonsense. Who drafted this rubbish?”
Finally, he looked up. “Right. You’re here. Good. Pack your bags—those fools at the branch have lost the plot. Look at this drivel they’ve scribbled down…”
Mr. Harrison laid out the mission—she’d leave tomorrow. He always relied on Eleanor, their best troubleshooter, and she never let him down.
“Go tomorrow. I’ll ring their director so they’ll see you straight away. Driving your own car?” She nodded. “Bring petrol receipts; we’ll cover it.”
At twenty-nine, unmarried and unbothered, Eleanor didn’t mind trips—the pay was decent, and if she smoothed over a real disaster, the boss threw in a bonus.
“So?” Emily pounced the moment she emerged. “Get an earful?”
“No, not me. The branch messed up. I’m off tomorrow to fix it.”
Mid-September, crisp and dry. Golden leaves spiraled in the wake of passing cars, some clinging to her windscreen. She set off at seven; five hours if the roads played nice.
Music hummed softly in the car. She had no idea this trip would change everything—that in this very branch, she’d meet the man of her dreams. David.
Parking outside the office, she grabbed her folder and bag, striding toward the entrance. The door swung open before she touched it—she nearly collided with a man in a hurry. He sidestepped, brushing her shoulder.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, then froze when their eyes met.
A charged silence. Something flickered between them.
“It’s fine,” she managed, moving to step past.
“Wait—” He caught her arm. “I’m in a rush, but I’ll be back in an hour. Can we talk? Please?”
“I’ve just arrived too. Fine—I’ll wait in the lobby.”
His smile was so disarming she nearly melted.
Work consumed her—urgent fixes, an extra day’s stay. When she finally descended to the lobby, he was pacing, eyes darting toward the lifts. Tall, dark-eyed, impossibly handsome.
“You’re free?”
“For now. More tomorrow.”
“Sorry—David. And you?”
“Eleanor,” she said, oddly breathless.
“Fancy a coffee? There’s a place nearby. Staying at the company hotel?”
“Always do. It’s convenient.”
They talked for hours, effortless, as if they’d known each other forever. Shared loves—books, the outdoors, starry nights by a fire.
“Where do you live, David?”
“Scotland.”
“Far! Flew in?”
“Just a train ride for me—five, six hours.”
They parted late, strolling under autumn’s golden canopy. Met again after work—he flew out tomorrow, she drove home. Exchanged numbers beneath a sunset bleeding through the trees.
Their romance unfolded in texts, calls, emails.
*”My darling Ellie, I miss you terribly,”* he’d write, then call, and they’d talk for hours.
She grew certain—miracles happened if you waited, hoped. Every message left her buoyant, counting the hours till lunch, when he’d ring.
Another trip. David arranged to fly in. Two stolen days—bliss.
“Come, I’ll show you something,” he said, leading her to a park. Ancient oaks, a vast lake, autumn leaves adrift on glassy water.
No wind. Just clouds, heavy and still.
Late September, chilly and grey.
“Ellie, I half expect a mermaid to rise from that lake—one just like you.”
“She already has,” she laughed, arms wide. They embraced tightly.
October brought fiery reunions. By month’s end, they rented a flat, stealing a weekend together.
Waking beside him—his profile, his breath, brewing his coffee—she thought, *This happiness is almost frightening.*
More partings. Bouquets arrived at her office, stirring envy. November brought another reunion, more love.
“Ellie, sweetheart,” he whispered between kisses. “You’ll have to transfer. Move to Scotland with me.”
She’d have followed him anywhere.
Then—silence. No calls, no texts. His number dead. She didn’t know his address—just the city.
Colleagues noticed her gloom.
“Maybe he ran off,” sneered Julia. “Got bored.”
The words chilled her. Then came the pregnancy. Five months along now, still working, still aching.
Mr. Harrison summoned her again. The same branch.
*Back to that city. Alone.*
Her feet carried her to the park, the lake, despite herself.
*Why am I here? Everything reminds me of him.*
Bare trees. Cold April. She sat on their bench, watching the unfeeling water. Drizzle settled in.
Shivering—from cold or memory, she couldn’t tell.
“Ellie. Waiting for your mermaid?”
She couldn’t move. His voice—
“*My* mermaid.”
He pulled her up, hands steady.
“I missed you.”
“What happened?” Her voice cracked. “We’ve been waiting.” She touched her stomach.
Shock, then joy flooded his face.
The accident—coma, rehab. His phone lost, her email deleted in anger. He’d come now to find her.
“My love, I was terrified I’d lost you,” he murmured, kissing her.
She floated, euphoric.
“Never again,” he vowed. “I’m never letting you go.”
“Never,” she agreed.
The cold spring air wrapped around them, but they didn’t feel it.
