I grab the metal sides and step up onto the first rung. Gavin is ten feet away and heading toward me. I calculate that four rungs high should do it. I scramble up the ladder. When Gavin is only five feet away I let out a cute little planned squeak and wave my arms.

“Eek! Help!”

I lean back and peer at him from over my shoulder.

He doesn’t notice. He doesn’t even look at me. He’s so involved in his phone conversation that he walks right by. Unbelievable.

What’s a girl gotta do to get a guy’s attention?

I twist around and take a step down. My stiletto catches on the rung. I grab at the ladder’s edges, but I’m unbalanced. I shriek, it’s not cute and it’s not planned. I grab at the sides of the ladder, but my heel twists and I fall.

I hit—hard.

But it’s not the pavement.

I hit a man’s chest.

He wraps his arms around my back and my legs and pulls me against him. My stomach flips and I reflexively grab his shoulders. I take a breath. He’s got me. Thank goodness.

Gavin saw me after all.

I look up into blue eyes.

“Thank you—” I start.

“What are you playing at?” he growls.

“Oh…you again…” I feel bad that I’m disappointed that Will caught me. Because he did save me. “Can you…do you mind putting me down?”

His eyes narrow and he gently sets me down. My legs wobble and I realize that the fall freaked me out more than I thought it would.

I look around and try to find Gavin. He’s back in front of the outfitters store.

“You’re up to something,” says Will. He catches me looking at Gavin and his jaw clenches. Then his eyes narrow on my still wet, stained dress. Uh oh.

I flush.

“You were trying to spill your coffee.”

My breath catches. “I was not!”

“And you were trying to fall.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he asks.

I feel my cheeks heat and they’re definitely red because Will nods like I just failed his lie detector test.

“I thought we agreed. You’re not Gavin’s type.”

I flush even more. The stickiness of the spilled drink on my skin is growing itchy and uncomfortable and I want to get out of this dress. My ankle has a pinchy throbby pain. I turn and limp away, trying to maintain a bit of dignity.

Not his type.

Bull crap.

Love doesn’t have “types.”

Gavin’s finally off the phone. He leans back against the glass window of the shop and stares up at the clear blue sky. His shoulders slump and he looks tired and alone.

I know exactly how he feels.

I’ve felt alone since my mom died and my dad stopped speaking.