Libby stomped the brakes as hard as she could. The tires squealed and the Jeep lurched to a dramatic halt. She flew forward but the seat belt kept her from barreling into the steering wheel. A mere inch from her bumper stood a dark-haired guy, his hands fanned outward and eyes wide with shock. Libby’s heart clenched at the near miss. The “what if” question gripped her with icy claws, squeezing the air from her lungs. What if she hadn’t been able to stop? She trembled with fear and embarrassment. The man issued her a piercing look of criticism. Libby shrank against the seat. She was clearly in the wrong, but how in the world did he get in the crosswalk so fast? The light had been yellow. In the time it took her to blink, he was there. “I’m sorry,” she said through the windshield, clutching the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turned white. To expand his admonishment of her recklessness, the guy shook his head and cast an occasional glance over his shoulder during his trek across the street.
