âYeah,â Peter said simply in response to her declaration of disbelief as she finally took in their current state. He was trying not to get too jostled by the crowd around them, easy enough for a guy his size, but he also feared that she would be bumped into and her shirt or bagâs tie thing would rip. She didnât seem the type to handle that well. Honestly, right off the bat he pegged her as a bit neurotic and maybe a bit⊠self-involved. Was it wrong to judge her from two seconds of listening to her? Probably, but Pete called âem as he saw âem. Still, at least she said pleased as she told him what to do.
âHold still, hun.â Peter said, being sure to keep his caught up arm still as well as he reached around to free the fabric of her shirt with a delicacy that may have been surprising to some. His work was very physical and most people only saw the aspects of it that required brute strength- throwing and hauling hoses, kicking down doors, prying apart car wrecks- but Peter was also a trained emergency responder. Not to mention he had taken great lengths to learn how to do all the delicate and intricate braids when he first adopted Samantha. Looking over the freed hem, Pete didnât see any obvious damage and therefore offered the woman a proud grin. âYour turn. I canât see where Iâm hooked on that tie thing without twisting my wrist all around.â He informed her.
  Just as instructed by the complete stranger, Abigail stood still with bated breath. Eyes squeezed to a close with a grimaced look on her pretty features, she hoped to God her blouse wouldnât be ripped. Really, she could dispose of it easily after, but she couldnât be bothered to have to go home and change when she had a bevy of appointments to attend to later on.
  Fortunately, the man heeded her pleading request just as well, having successfully removed the stuck hem. With a sigh of relief, she carefully inspected the site, rather pleased to find that there wasnât much damage at all to the fabric, save for that tiny dot of a rip she was sure she could get one of Owenâs people to fix later on. âNot a bad job.â she mused, before turning to him now.
  Returning the favour then, deft fingers untangled the scarf beautifully tied to her handbag. It, however, wasnât as fortunate as her blouse. âDarn it.â Managing to unhook his watch from the delicate fabric, a few seconds later, and he was free. âThere we go.â Upon close inspection now, she found the rip on the scarf to be bigger than she anticipated, though really, it was just an inch of a gash on satin.âAnd there we go.â she added, folding the detached accessory now, before thrusting it in his direction. âHere. As a token of my appreciation for not ripping my blouse, and a little memento for you to remember me by.â Not like she was going to have any use for it anyway.
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