You swore you were not the type to trip over your own feet, but the second you stepped onto the studio lot with a coffee in each hand, you proved yourself wrong. One toe caught the curb, and your world tilted.

A warm hand shot out, steady as a seatbelt. “Easy,” Jared said, grinning like he had just rescued a kitten from a tree. “That was a heroic save. For the coffee.”

You blinked up at him, mortified. “It’s fine. I meant to do that.”

“Of course you did,” he said, deadpan. “You’re practicing for the Olympics. Category: Walking.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself, and something about that tiny sound made his smile soften. He guided you to a bench like it was the most natural thing in the world, as if you had been doing this for years. As if it was already yours.

“Here,” you said, thrusting one cup toward him. “Peace offering. For witnessing… that.”

Jared accepted it with a theatrical gasp. “You buy me coffee after I save it? That’s it. I’m telling everyone we’re best friends now.”

“You’re impossible,” you said, but your cheeks warmed. You could not stop smiling, and it was like his presence turned the whole morning brighter.

You fell into an easy rhythm: teasing, laughing, bumping shoulders like magnets pretending they were not pulling. Jared kept leaning in to say ridiculous things under his breath, and you kept trying to look annoyed while failing completely. Every time you laughed, he looked proud, like it was a victory he had earned fair and square.

By lunchtime, Jared pointed at a sign that said no running and whispered, “Wanna break the rules?”

You arched a brow. “You’re suggesting we run.”

“I’m suggesting we jog rebelliously,” he corrected, eyes sparkling. “Come on. If we’re going to be fools, we might as well be fools in love.”

You stared at him, heart thudding, and realized you were not falling because you tripped.

You were falling because he caught you.