“Well,” she says, performing an awkward sideways shuffle that keeps the basket hidden. “This has been fun.” Because her eyes are locked on me, Bea misses the free-standing tiered baskets of snacks. Tripping into it, she stumbles forward, but I lunge and catch her wrist before she hits the floor. When I pull her my way, momentum sends her tumbling into my chest. “Shit,” she yelps, her hands landing on my waist as she steadies herself. A wave of her scent washes over me, and her warm hands burn through my clothes. I swallow roughly, begging my body to cool down. It’s been a year since anyone’s
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