She lands on top of me, and the laughter fades, replaced by something quieter.
I can feel her curves through her dress as her hands are braced on either side of my shoulders, her breath warm against my face.
The sunflowers sway above us, shadows shifting, the world narrowed to this small space between us.
She blinks, her eyes flicking over my face as if she’s suddenly aware of every inch of space, or lack thereof.
“Oh,” she breathes.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure she can feel it. I don’t move. I don’t trust myself to do so.
“Sorry,” she says softly, but she doesn’t get up yet.
“It’s…okay,” I manage.
Her gaze settles on my glasses, slightly crooked from the fall. She lifts one hand slowly, as if giving me time to stop her.
I don’t.
She nudges them back into place carefully, her touch feather-light on my cheek.
The contact sends heat straight through me.
“There,” she says quietly. “Better.”
I can feel my face burning. I know it’s obvious. I know I’m blushing. There’s no hiding it.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Something tender flickers across her expression, like she’s seeing me clearly for the first time.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
“Sorry,” she says quickly, her words tumbling out as she shifts her weight, suddenly very aware of herself. “I—I shouldn’t be on you.”
Her words hit me harder than the fall did.
“It’s—no,” I say at the same time she starts pushing herself up. “You’re fine. I mean— it’s fine. I didn’t?—”
We both stop, flustered, talking over each other.
She laughs nervously, brushing dirt off her dress. “I’m really clumsy. I swear I’m not usually this?—”
“Layla,” I say softly, and she looks at me.
Her expression changes, still bright, still warm, but there’s something else there now.
A flicker of guilt.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats, quieter this time.
Something twists in my chest.
“You don’t have to be,” I say, meaning it. “I should’ve… I don’t know. I should’ve caught you better.”
I push myself up first, then reach for her without thinking. My hands settle at her waist as my fingers curve instinctively around the soft warmth there.
Her skin is warm beneath my palms, the thin fabric doing nothing to help.
