Six o'clock in the evening. Timothy and Hana were back on the basement parking where they left the Ford Raptor.
Timothy opened the door for her and she climbed down carefully, but her heel caught the edge of the curb.
"Ah—!" Hana gasped, losing balance.
Before she could fall, Timothy's arm shot out, steadying her by the waist. Her tablet nearly slipped from her hand, but she clutched it tightly, while his grip kept her upright.
For a brief second, time seemed to slow. Hana's eyes widened, her face tilted up toward him. Timothy's gaze locked on hers, his hand firm against her side.
Their breaths mingled faintly. Hana's cheeks turned pink, while Timothy, usually composed, found himself staring longer than he meant to.
Then, almost at the same time, they snapped back to reality.
"Sorry," Hana muttered quickly, straightening herself and brushing her skirt with her free hand.
Timothy let go, clearing his throat. "You should be careful. Don't rush."
