Princes Street was crowded—the late afternoon rush, tourists everywhere, and the chill wind whipping down from the castle. Ted Wiley kept his shoulders tucked in, hands close to his chest, doing everything possible not to knock into anyone. Being built like a walking wall made navigating crowds a tactical operation.

But then—impact.

He hadn’t even seen you. One second he was focused on not crushing a lamppost, the next you were on the pavement with your phone spinning across the ground like a loose coin.

Ted froze. Eyes wide. Heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out.

“Oh—bloody hell,” he blurted, voice deep enough to vibrate the glass of a nearby shop window. He crouched carefully, palms open, like approaching a startled kitten. “I’m… I’m so sorry. Didn’t even see you there.”

You weren’t hurt—just surprised—but Ted still looked like he’d committed a felony. He reached out one giant hand, then hesitated, terrified he might break you with a touch. Eventually he offered two fingers instead, like you were made of crystal.

His ears burned crimson. He’d never been good with strangers, but this? This was something else entirely. The second your hand brushed his, something hot and electric shot through him straight to his chest.

He helped you up like you weighed less than air. He was still staring—too long, too stunned—until he realized and flinched his gaze away, clearing his throat.

“Uh… right. Sorry again,” he mumbled, shifting his weight awkwardly, almost tripping over his own boots. “Didn’t mean to knock you flying. You okay?”

His pulse wouldn’t calm down. His stomach felt like he’d jumped off Arthur’s Seat.

Was this panic? Embarrassment?

Or—no way—was this love trying to throw him off his feet for once?