Mortified! The day I met Mr Umbrella was one of my worst. Not quite my-tits-plastered-all-over-social-media humiliating, but a close second to that horrible mishap. I was soaking wet from the rain with my shirt nearly see-through, and I did trap him between lift doors. Luckily, I wasn’t going to see him again, which made that situation only slightly better. Only, after that he seemed to be absolutely everywhere, and I was more humiliated each time. Red Cheeks and Mr Umbrella. I’m not even joking. That’s how we called each other before we were formally introduced. Despite knowing my name for quite a while now, he’s pretty adamant on reminding me of the nickname. Little Red-Cheeked Dancing Girl? That’s even worse! Gorgeous? He has no reason to utter that one! Every single time he’s seen me, I’ve been a mess. Not even a hot mess, trust me. Yet he keeps up this charade. I’m starting to think he’s not playing a game.