You sniff more of the scent and move you head closer to the girl. You smelling pleasure is short-lived as you are interrupted by a sudden swat on your left cheek. "What are you up to Mister!" the girl yells as you notice the folded newpaper on her right hand.
"I'm sorry. It's just that your smell reminds me of . . . " you stammer in apology. ". . . of my late wife. She died in a car accident five years ago." You just hoped your lie sounded believable.
"How long where you married?" she finally asks in a calmer tone. "Any kids?"
"Just six months." You answer. "None of course."
"Sorry to hear that," she says apologetically. "I didn't mean to hurt you," she adds as she places her soft fingers on your reddening cheek.
"It's all right," you say. "It will subside soon."
"No," she insists, pulling your hand towards a door you hadn't noticed before. "We'll put some ice."
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