8. Are You Okay?
My coffee cup’s empty, and it’s too quiet in my cave. Solitude is how I recharge my social batteries, but I find myself craving...something. People? Chit chat? I usually avoid small talk, but today is too quiet.
I take off my headphones, grab my mug, and head downstairs. Maybe Joanie’s in the kitchen taking a break from her writing. Sometimes she likes to bounce ideas off me, and I think my non-reactions keep her ideas flowing.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. It’s probably my sister asking if I’m coming up for the weekend. I pull the phone out but the sleeves on my sweater are too long and cover my hands so I don’t get a good grip on it. It starts to fall. Then I start to lose my coffee mug. Then my foot misses the next stair, and I pitch forward. I drop the mug and the phone and put my hands out to catch myself before I face-plant on the hardwood floor, but I land in a pair of plaid covered arms.
“Oof,” Stuart says as he stumbles back, bearing my weight against his chest. “I got you,” he breathes out.
Words escape me. One foot’s on the bottom stair and one’s twisted a little on the floor. My hip is pressed to his thigh, and his arms are still banded around me, holding me up.
I press my forehead to his chest, taking a second to ground myself. “Thank you. Fuck, that could’ve gone a lot worse.” For a tiny moment it feels like Stuart’s nose brushes the top of my head. I take my time straightening up, reluctant to step out of his arms. He doesn’t seem in a rush to let me go either.
His eyes rake over my face. “That was too close. I like you in one piece, please and thank you.” Stuart’s voice is low and shaky. My eyes hold his for a moment too long.
Joanie rushes over. “Oh my god, are you okay?” Stuart takes a step back, releasing me, and I don’t like it. I nod, turning to Joanie.
“I’m all right. Just need to be more careful.”
I know that glimmer in Joanie’s eye—I’ve seen it multiple times in the short months I’ve been here. She’s going to use this in one of her romance novels.
“Joanie...” I warn. Stuart bends down and picks up the three pieces of my broken mug and tosses them in the trash.
“That was so fucking hot,” she whispers to me. “The way he swooped in and saved your life.” I can’t argue with her, but I roll my eyes anyway.
“You’re going to use it in one of your books, aren’t you?” My voice wobbles, probably from the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. I raise trembling hands to run them through my hair. Joanie notices and grabs my arm, dragging me to the closest chair.
I lean forward, putting my head between my knees, willing my body to stop shaking. Feet covered in brown leather shoes and socks dotted with red hearts step into my line of vision. Stuart’s jeans are rolled to his ankle, and I don’t hate it. I snort at the thought of being scandalized because he’s showing a hint of ankle. Did I hit my head?
A warm hand settles on my shoulder, and then Stuart’s there, crouched in front of me, rubbing soothing circles. “I’m sorry about your third-favorite mug.”
I want to laugh at the sad, sincere look on his face. He’s beautiful, but I wish he was smiling. “Better the mug than my skull. Thanks for catching me.” Joanie ceases her hovering and backs up towards the kitchen. I’m afraid she’s going to start taking notes right in front of us.
“I’ll always catch you,” he whispers. The corners of his mouth twitch, and his eyes are wide like he’s fighting a smile.
I sit up straight and smack him on the shoulder. “You’re so cheesy. That was awful.” I try to wrestle down the laugh that wants to escape but it’s stronger than me. The buzzing, itchy adrenaline leaves my system in a rush and I’m suddenly warm and tired. I want to curl up under my desk. My thoughts are a little fuzzy, and I try to refocus.
“Are you ready for your next recording session? We can finish off the first episode and get it out into the world.” Work talk is easier than whatever I’m feeling right now.
“We?” He lifts an eyebrow at me.
“Yes, we. I’ll be making you sound good through the magic of editing. When you’re a big famous podcaster you better remember us peons.”
“Don’t worry, I have my family to keep me humble.” He stands up, offering me his hand. I hesitate for a moment, bracing for the electric shock I know is coming.
I grasp his hand and school my face against the instant heat that zips unchecked up my arm and settles in my chest.
Stuart doesn’t hide his reaction like I’d expect a guy to do. His auburn eyebrows shoot up his forehead and his eyes widen. A blush rushes from his neck to his hairline. We’re standing too close—his hand still in mine—and the voice in my head telling me to step back sounds muffled and faint.
The sound of the coffee maker spluttering has us both pulling away, the hazy little moment popping like a soap bubble.
I brush my blunt bangs out of my face and tuck my hair behind my ears, glancing down at the toes of my boots. “I’ll see you later. Thanks again for the save.” I book it back upstairs without getting coffee.
I faintly hear Stuart say behind me, “Always, Mugs.”