STUMBLE
The turning point came when he went to see one of her shows.
She didn’t know he was there at first. There were no bodyguards, no swanky limo purring up in front of the theatre. If she hadn’t looked up at exactly that moment she might not have known at all. The flash of blue eyes and angular hair on the back row almost made her stumble.
Almost.
“It wasn’t awful,” he said later by his car, not looking at her.
“I thought you hated ballet.” She glared at his neck.
“I do.”
He was always almost making her stumble.
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