I shift my architectural portfolio under my left arm and pick up my pace, dodging a bike courier who blows through the crosswalk without a glance. The woman ahead of me yanks her dog sideways. The dog yelps. I step around them both.
Lead with connectivity. Economic impact first. Safety second. Sustainability third.
"Connectivity is the foundation of sustainable growth," I whisper, reaching for the heavy glass door of the cafe. "Without reliable access between the Harbor District and downtown—"
I grab the handle of the glass door just as it forcefully swings outward.
I don’t even have time to brace myself. A man steps out. He is turned backward, tossing a laughing comment to someone inside, a large coffee cup balanced in his right hand.
I plow directly into him.
The impact knocks the breath out of me. Time seems to fracture. I watch the plastic lid of his cup pop free. I watch the dark, steaming liquid arc up into the morning air in a spectacular, terrible spray.
It hits his shirt. It cascades down the thick black strap of a camera. It soaks directly into the canvas bag slung at his hip.
"Oh my—"
He twists away but it's already too late. The coffee is everywhere. His dark sunglasses slip off the top of his head and clatter onto the concrete between my boots.
"Are you kidding me?"
I look up, my apologies dying in my throat. Green eyes. Sharp, furious, and framed by wavy blonde hair that falls across his forehead in the chaos. He is tall, his broad shoulders currently bearing the brunt of my absolute clumsiness.
"I'm so sorry," I gasp, my hands hovering uselessly in the air. "I didn't see you—"
"Clearly," he snaps, his voice a low, rough rumble of pure irritation.
He wrenches the camera bag off his shoulder, setting it carefully on the metal bistro table next to us. His hands move with frantic speed, unzipping the main compartment to check inside.
I drop to a crouch, snatching his sunglasses off the pavement, before lunging for the napkin dispenser on the table. I yank out a thick fistful of cheap brown paper. "Here—I can wipe them off. I can—"
I look down at the glasses in my hand. They're nice. The kind that come with a little cloth pouch and a hard case. Not the kind you clean with a paper napkin from a sidewalk dispenser.
"It's fine." He reaches for them without looking up, still checking the camera.
I thrust some napkins toward him instead.
He looks at them. Then at the glasses still in my hand. He wipes his hands. Then the strap. Coffee drips off his elbow onto the concrete.
He's soaked through on one side. His shirt. His jeans. Dark stains spreading across both.
My hands move before my brain does.
I start blotting. His sleeve first, then his shirt where the worst of it hit. Short, efficient little dabs — the same way I've been cleaning up after my brothers since I was twelve.
He goes very still.
"What are you—"
My hands freeze against his chest.
He's looking at me like I've lost my mind.
"I—" I pull back. "Sorry. I have younger siblings. I just automatically—"
I stop talking.
He's still staring. Those eyes are still furious, still devastatingly green, and that jawline is still—
