Chapter 16
HANNA
I’d successfully prevented myself from texting him to see how he was doing all week.
Successfully, but barely. There were multiple times I reached for my phone to send him a message while walking to my office, heading home, and sitting on my couch at the end of the day.
I stared at our text thread trying to come up with a way to open up the conversation.
Sure, I wanted to check in on how he is doing, but more than that I wanted to text him simply so I could talk to him.
When my phone buzzed on my coffee table late Sunday night, I expected it to be Rae or my parents.
My stomach did a somersault when I saw his name on my phone screen.
Not because I was panicked or worried, but because I was excited he texted me, which is definitely not what I should be feeling when a patient reaches out after hours.
I thought I handled the conversation well enough.
I kept it polite yet professional. Except my slipup of sending him the picture with my exposed leg in the corner.
I thought I managed to keep myself out of frame.
When he pointed out my pajamas, I nearly gave myself a concussion after smacking myself in the forehead.
Of course he pointed out my pajamas.
I’m still embarrassed by the way my cheeks flushed when he called them cute.
I don’t have time to think about that though since I’m running late getting into the office as Rae and I had chatted a little too long.
She tried to raze me about ‘my cute fireman’ but I retaliated by asking her about her future husband.
My retaliation didn’t get me very far because unlike me, she had been brave enough to finally text him and they have dinner plans this weekend.
Lucky bitch.
Unlocking the front door, I step inside and flip the lights on with a smile.
My practice space isn’t a lot, but it’s me.
Artwork hangs on the walls and the chairs I picked out make the space feel cozy.
I worked hard to go out on my own and will never not be grateful for getting to this point so early in my career.
My feet carry me to my office and I quickly unpack, setting my planner on my desk and tucking my lunch into the mini fridge.
Flipping my laptop open, I cross-check my digital appointment booking system with what I have down for today’s sessions.
Today is a full day with five appointments on the books—two in the morning and three in the afternoon.
I smile to myself looking at my morning lineup.
10:00 a.m. - M. Adler
11:00 a.m. - C. Miller
Conrad has been coming to see me now for a couple months and while he might see our sessions as nothing short of pure, inhumane torture, I personally look forward to them week after week.
He’s one of those classic cases of an adult trying to work through unresolved childhood trauma.
For him, this has manifested into a hard exterior he uses as a defense mechanism to close people out and keep them at a distance.
He tries, though, which is what matters.
Thankfully for him, he has a rock solid support group around him in the form of three friends he talks about every time he comes in.
If he isn’t talking about whatever nonsense his dog has gotten him into, he talks about them.
Even though I’ve only been seeing him since September, he’s made immense progress in his healing.
Not all on his own, I think he has someone in his life making him a little more chipper than usual which makes me happy for him.
I spend the next hour taking notes on my clients for the day and billing those I’ve seen earlier in the week.
I do my best to keep up with the admin portion of my work so I don’t have to stay late on Fridays to get it done.
Before I know it, Miles’s session is about to start.
Looking up at the clock, my stomach flips knowing he’s going to be here soon.
We made it through our last session just fine but that was before the ‘cute PJs’ comment and me sending him a picture of my crocheted rabbit.
I hope he didn’t read anything into our messages, I was only trying to be nice.
A professional. Someone following through on the offer they had made.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
I wipe my hands down the front of my pants as I stand from my desk.
A fresh cup of coffee sounds like just the thing I need to take the edge off.
Grabbing my phone, I head for the lobby and then the hallway to the building kitchen to use the coffee machine since I don’t keep one in my office.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket to check my texts, I step into the hallway and promptly run into a body that feels more like a brick wall than a human.
“Woah there, doc, you gotta watch where you’re going.” Miles chuckles as he holds tight to my arms to steady me. The size difference between us causes me to nearly bounce off of him before he catches me.
Fixing my glasses, I look up at him with a shy smile. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect you to be coming in at the same time I was heading out.” My hands are braced on his arms after colliding with him and I can feel his forearms flex as we stand holding one another.
“I guess you could say I was a little eager about our session today. The station was slow so I came over a few minutes early. I hope that’s okay,” he hums, looking down at me. His lips are pulled back into a smirk and the closeness of him allows me to be inundated with the smell of his aftershave.
“That’s totally fine,” I manage to get out before the scent of him becomes too much. Clearing my throat, I drop his arms and take a step back. “I’m going to go make myself a cup of coffee, would you like one?”
He looks in the direction I’m pointing at before looking back at me. “Nah, I’m okay. Is it okay if I walk with you?”
No, no it is not. I need you to not be close so I can fully exhale and get myself in check before I have forty-five minutes of alone time with you.
“Sure,” I squeak out. My eyes clench together after I step around him and he can no longer see my face. I listen to the sound of his footsteps behind me as we move towards the kitchen and try to settle my heart rate as we walk.
“You sure you don’t want some?” I ask over my shoulder, reaching up for a coffee mug. Being somewhat vertically challenged, I have to lift up on tiptoes to reach the mugs. Stepping up behind me, his chest presses into my back as he reaches over me to grab the mug.
“I’m sure,” he says, handing me the cup.
He hasn’t taken a step away from me meaning we’re very close together in a very tiny kitchenette.
I turn around to take the mug he’s offering me and am trapped between him and the counter.
I feel my cheeks flush as my back presses more and more into the countertop as I try to make space between us.
“You know, the machine is that way. You kind of have me blocked in,” I note, glancing down at his hand which is resting against the countertop, boxing me in.
“But if I move then you’ll run away and I won’t get to be close to you.” He tips his head to one side and leans in a fraction of an inch.
I bite down hard on my molars trying to maintain a neutral expression. “We won’t be able to start your session on time if you keep me here.”
“That’s fine with me. I’d much rather do this than talk about my feelings anyway.”
“Miles.” I lean into his name and raise a brow at him.
After a beat, he raises his hands in defeat and lets me out. I push out a slow, steadying breath as I try to focus on making myself my coffee instead of the wave of energy buzzing around inside of me.
“How do you like your coffee?” he asks as he leans against the counter.
“Preferably made in a coffee shop but when I’m here, I make do with what I have.”
“What’s your order?”
I pause before dropping a coffee pod into the machine and turning around to look at him skeptically.
“What? Am I not allowed to know your coffee order? Is that some sort of ethical violation?” he asks as he shrugs his shoulders.
“No, it’s not,” I answer slowly. I finish setting up the machine to make me a cup and push start before turning to look at him. “I like to get a honey vanilla latte, iced, with almond milk.”
“Is almond milk a requirement?” He tips a brow at me. The coffee machine starts to spit and bubble as it makes my drink.
“It is for me. Normal milk does things to my insides no human wants to happen to them.” He laughs at my honesty which makes me smile.
I quickly pour some creamer into the mug once the machine is done to make it drinkable. Black coffee, while for some people, is not for me. I reach to take the mug back to my office but before I can grab it, his hand is around the ceramic vessel and is lifting it from the counter.
“I can carry that,” I say hastily, trying to take it from him but he deflects my grab and spins away from me.
“No, let me. It’s hot and if you spill it, you’ll burn yourself.”
“Miles, I’ve carried hot coffee down the hallway plenty of times before without burning myself, I think I can handle it.”
“Yes, but I wasn’t here to help you before. Now I am, so stop arguing and let’s go. You have head shrinking to do.”
Before I can try and snatch the cup back, he’s heading back down the hallway for my office.
“You know, I don’t really like it when people call it ‘shrinking,’” I call out before I hurry down after him.
I hustle for the door to my office space and open it for him so he can go inside.
Once we reach the room we meet in for sessions, he carefully places the mug down on my desk and looks at me with another smile that makes my breath catch in my throat.
“Then I won’t use that term again.” He lifts up three fingers pressed together, the rest of his hand in a fist. “Scout’s honor.”
I try to bite back my smile. “Were you even a Boy Scout?”