[ Hilda had become astoundingly good at pretending things away – at least that's what she tells herself. She had however been so flustered by the discovery of what had been in the box that she had in fact briefly forgotten about the spark between them when their hands had touched.
His hesitation prompts a reminder, and her cheeks flush, embarrassed. Not just at the hesitation but at the thought that flashes through her mind unbidden that he might be balking at the thought of touching her. Claude has the propensity for pettiness. Has no problem cutting people out. She's seen it firsthand. It had just never occurred to her that she might be on the receiving end and the thought cuts deep.
But then he's grasping her hand and an all too familiar warmth rushes through her. She can't help but stare down at their hands, part surprise, part confusion. Holding her hand wasn't going to get them up to the window. What was he –
And suddenly the world falls from beneath them. Or the boxes do rather. Hilda feels her heart drop to her stomach as the sound of splintering wood and clattering of the contents of the boxes tumbling to the ground fills her ears. A small, startled sound escapes her lips and it's only when they tumble to the ground too that she absently registers Claude's arms are wrapped around her, bracing her from the impact.
Or most of it at least. Her elbows smack against the concrete and she hisses, the immediate prickle of hit nerves distracting from the fact that some of the items that had escaped where the ones in her crate. Inches from their heads lays the silver jewelry box – now dented because of a small anvil falling onto it – and the mildly crushed cardboard box.
She can't help but whine, not realizing that she's still wrapped in his arms, their faces are dangerously close to one another, and that her hurt, embarrassment, or whatever, is now scattered around them. ]
Ow, ow, ow! I thought the boxes we picked were fine.
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His hesitation prompts a reminder, and her cheeks flush, embarrassed. Not just at the hesitation but at the thought that flashes through her mind unbidden that he might be balking at the thought of touching her. Claude has the propensity for pettiness. Has no problem cutting people out. She's seen it firsthand. It had just never occurred to her that she might be on the receiving end and the thought cuts deep.
But then he's grasping her hand and an all too familiar warmth rushes through her. She can't help but stare down at their hands, part surprise, part confusion. Holding her hand wasn't going to get them up to the window. What was he –
And suddenly the world falls from beneath them. Or the boxes do rather. Hilda feels her heart drop to her stomach as the sound of splintering wood and clattering of the contents of the boxes tumbling to the ground fills her ears. A small, startled sound escapes her lips and it's only when they tumble to the ground too that she absently registers Claude's arms are wrapped around her, bracing her from the impact.
Or most of it at least. Her elbows smack against the concrete and she hisses, the immediate prickle of hit nerves distracting from the fact that some of the items that had escaped where the ones in her crate. Inches from their heads lays the silver jewelry box – now dented because of a small anvil falling onto it – and the mildly crushed cardboard box.
She can't help but whine, not realizing that she's still wrapped in his arms, their faces are dangerously close to one another, and that her hurt, embarrassment, or whatever, is now scattered around them. ]
Ow, ow, ow! I thought the boxes we picked were fine.