Before he could think to say something disengage, Miss McPadraic was doing the responsible thing and apparently beating a hasty retreat. Except, said responsible thing ended up in her slipping in the flour and all but upending herself.

While Ahmet had long learned even in Constantinople that unrelated men and women did not touch... he was still an older son of goat herders at heart. Someone fell, and the last thing he instinctually wanted was someone rolling downhill and cracking their skull.

He immediately swept out for her hand – only for his own shoes to lose traction in the floury mess and trip him up as well.

… Or, to be more specific, down. On top of unattended Miss McPadraic.