No, that was no good. He must have rung her doorbell all of - what - five seconds ago. Optimistically he had another five to think of something better.
Palms sweating, heart racing, his thoughts skittered about his head like a flock of excited butterflies. If only one of them would land for a second he could probably form a coherent sentence. Instead he was panicking about how sweaty his damn palms were. Think, think, think, think, think, dammit -
Too late.
She opened the door.
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