Grabbing my books from the long, oak table, I race out the door and skid down the hall. Through a cracked, yellow window, I can still see the moon. I’m so busy looking up at her that when I turn the corner, I smash into someone. Limbs and books go flying. As I tumble to the stone floor, a male voice curses.
Artemon lies flat on his back, groaning. My head aches just as bad as always, but my heart beats just a little quicker. What do they call these in those tacky romantic comedies? A meet-cute. Or is it a cute meet? What if it’s just called fate? Donna’s reading comes to mind. True love. My prince. Magic! Yes, it’s all around us, even when we ignore it.
As I sit up, a movie begins to play in my mind. He asks if I’m okay, helps dust me off, and his fingers linger here and there. Not in an impolite or lecherous way, but in—
“You dolt!” Artemon’s face is mottled with anger as he stands and gathers his papers in the dim light.
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