She elbows me lightly. “Helpful.”
I swing one leg over the sill and drop down onto the cobblestones outside before turning back to her.
“Alright,” I say. “Your turn.”
Freya leans over the sill and looks down. “You’re going to catch me if I fall, right?”
“Obviously.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That sounded suspiciously confident.”
“Freya.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve carried tent poles, crates of dishes, and half a log pile this week. I think I can manage you.”
She laughs. “Alright, rugby boy. Don’t drop me.”
She climbs onto the sill, turning slightly so she can swing one leg over. And that’s when my brain becomes deeply unhelpful. Because the view is…Right.Focus.
Freya shifts slightly, trying to find her balance. “Why are you so quiet?” she asks over her shoulder.
“Concentrating.”
“On what?”
“I…Safety.”
“Uh-huh.”
She scoots forward another inch, gripping the frame with both hands as she tries to lower herself.
“You could help instead of gawking,” she says.
I step closer. “Alright,” I say, reaching up to steady her by the waist.
Her body tenses for half a second when my hands settle there. “You’ve got me?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Properly?”
“Freya.”
“Yes?”
“You are currently half out of a window.”
“Good point.”
She laughs softly and lowers herself a little further.
My hands tighten instinctively around her waist as her feet search for the ground.
“Nearly there,” I say.
“I can’t reach.”
