His hands dropped as if affixed to anchors, and he blushed so furiously that even his dark complexion failed to hide it. The feminine exclamation served only to punctuate what Atticus had already figured out: he had just grabbed a strange woman’s bosom.

(At least, he prayed she was a strange woman; he could not imagine what damage it might do were she a regular!)

An awkward moment passed before Atticus reluctantly took a step forward, hands firmly at his sides. He did not wish to walk into her, but knew it was no good apologizing if she could not see his face. For a brief moment, the idea of fleeing into the mist crossed his mind, but his father had not raised a liar any more than he had raised a liar, and so Atticus was forced to do the gentlemanly thing instead.

“I—I,” shame the words couldn’t quite come out.