“Wait!” But I am not fast enough in my heels, and I stumble and twist my ankle as the doors close. He only stares at me as the elevator gaps disappears, and I think, for a second, his eyes lower to my chest one last time to study the Christmas-themed disaster of cocoa and coffee all over my coconuts. There are marshmallows on my melons. It’s teatime on my tatas. My life is over.
Poor Ave could she have had anything else go wrong??? At least she didn't spray him with her mochaccino all over his handsome suit.
