A Vase of Violas

She carried her steps over to the waiting customer and clambered up. She was aware of his aftershave, warm and woody. Too aware: she fumbled the object and sent it toppling. She grabbed the ladder to stop herself falling, and gasped as he somehow caught the vase in one arm. His other hand was trapped firmly under her own.

‘I am so sorry!’ She promptly released his hand.

‘Are you alright?’ He asked.

‘Yes. Thank you. I’m fine. Thank you. Yes.’ She was mortified. Luckily, he was busy tracing the painted violas on the vase.

‘Beautiful.’ He looked straight at her.