He had just finished transcribing the first page on the pad when he noticed a shadow approaching: someone also wanting to sit down. As quickly as he could, he cleared off his milk carton, napkin, and two loose steno pages from the rest of the bench. “Sorry,” he said, before he’d even had a chance to look up. “For what?” For everything, thought Tim, once he raised his head and saw the spectacular young man standing over him. Taking in the suit jacket slung over the man’s broad shoulders and the faint glistening of sweat in the hollow of his neck where he’d loosened his tie, Tim wanted to say:
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