WNDR3384

Caught Before Falling

The gallery is full of people pretending to look at art while actually watching each other, and Ethan Calloway has spent the last forty minutes watching only her. She moves through the crowd like she owns the marble beneath her heels — until, in the narrow corridor between the Rothko and the exit, one heel catches a seam in the floor and the performance shatters. He is already moving before he decides to, crossing the room in four long strides, and his arms close around her waist a half-second before she hits the ground. Now she is upright, her champagne is somehow still in her hand, and his face is three inches from hers — and neither of them has said a single word.