Before I can so much as blink, Frost is towering above me, his broad chest suddenly a mere whisper away from my face. One second, the tray is in my hands and the next it’s flying out of my grasp. My heart lurches into my throat at the abrupt commotion, skipping several beats as my wide, alert eyes follow the platter and its items on reflex, watching them leave my grasp and clatter loudly as they skid and topple across the table. It happens so fast I can barely track it, and before I can even draw my next breath, my feet leave the floor without my consent.

Devoid of any warning, I find myself hauled into the air, the wind getting knocked out of me for a split second, my head spinning with the jolting intersection of flying and falling at the same time.

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