7. #2
Because my mind is always looking for reasons.
Because the last time I spoke to Grant Lennox, it wasn't in this room, and it wasn't scheduled, and it lasted longer than it was supposed to.
Not flirting.
Not anything I could point to and name.
Still something that didn't fit neatly in the folder I keep him in.
"Okay," I say.
Isabel gestures toward the seating area. "Make yourself comfortable."
I nod and move toward the chairs.
As I pass the woman near the window, she looks up briefly.
Her eyes widen for half a second—recognition flashing sharp—then she drops her gaze back to her phone like she didn't see me at all.
Good.
I choose a seat with my back to the wall out of habit. I set my purse in my lap instead of on the table. My fingers rest on the strap like it's something I might need to grab quickly.
Poker face, even when nobody's asking for one.
The room is so quiet I can hear the muted click of Isabel's keyboard as she types.
I can also hear my own thoughts trying to fill the silence with noise.
Don't be weird.
Don't be overly friendly.
Don't be cold.
I cross my legs, then uncross them because the angle feels too defensive. I settle again. I take out my phone, scroll without seeing anything, then lock the screen and slide it back into my purse.
Isabel glances up once, like she can sense the tension radiating off me.
"How's your schedule been?" she asks casually. "Still crazy?"
"It's been busy," I let out a small laugh. "Still trying to get used to everything."
Isabel makes a face like that's an understatement. "I've been seeing clips on TikTok. You've been everywhere."
I hum a small sound that could be agreement.
She tilts her head, watching me in that gentle way some people do when they're trying to figure out if you're okay without asking directly.
Then, mercifully, the door down the hall opens.
Voices drift out—low, indistinct. A man laughs. A woman replies. Footsteps approach.
My spine straightens before I tell it to.
The chattering fades, the door clicks shut again, and then—
Grant appears in the doorway.
Not rushing.
Pressed shirt beneath his coat, sleeves neat, hair slightly tousled in a way that feels accidental and still somehow intentional. His presence shifts the room without him trying.
His eyes land on me.
Just once.
No visible reaction.
But something in my stomach moves anyway—subtle and annoying, like my body is refusing to follow the script I wrote for it on the drive here.
"Naomi," he says.
Not warm.
Not cold.
I rise to my feet smoothly.
Like I didn't fall asleep to his voice a few nights ago.
"Dr. Lennox," I reply, polite.
His mouth twitches—almost a smile, almost nothing.
"This way," he says, stepping aside to let me pass.
I walk toward him, posture straight, shoulders relaxed, face calm.
But as I cross the threshold into his office, a thought settles in the back of my mind like a secret.
Every time I come here, something in me learns a new way to be human.
The door clicks shut behind me with a quiet finality that makes my shoulders want to rise.
I don't let them.
Grant crosses the room with that same controlled calm—no rushing, no hovering. He gestures toward the chair across from his desk.
"Have a seat."
I sit.
He sits.
The distance between us is polite. Measured. Exactly the amount that makes it impossible to tell whether the air feels different because it's actually different or because I'm the one who changed.
Grant glances at his tablet, then back at me.
"How have you been since we last spoke?"
"I've been good," I say.
A clean answer. A nothing answer.
Grant doesn't smile. He doesn't call it out.
He simply nods, pen moving, as if he's collecting information instead of judging it.
"Sleeping okay?"
"Mostly."
"Nightmares?"
"Not really."
"And the... noise?"
The word lands gently, like he's offering it gently instead of forcing it.
My throat tightens.
I make my face neutral.
"I haven't had much opportunity to be alone lately," I say carefully. "There's been a lot going on."
Grant writes that down too, like it's data. Like he isn't listening for what I'm not saying.
"Okay," he says.
A pause.
"I'm glad you came in today."
I nod once.
Then he adds, calmly, "I also want to say this before we get into anything else. I'm glad you called the other night."
My stomach dips a fraction.
I keep my expression steady. "It was late. I shouldn't have—"
Grant lifts his hand slightly.
Not to stop me.
Just to slow the reflex.
"You don't need to apologize," he says. "I'm not bringing it up to make you uncomfortable. I'm bringing it up because it matters that you reached out before things got worse."
I swallow.
He watches me with that calm attention that makes it hard to lie convincingly.
I don't want to be seen.
I also don't want to go back to pretending I don't exist.
Grant glances down at his notes, then back up. "I want to take things in a different direction this session if that's okay."
My eyebrow slightly raised, It could be read in my expression I had no idea what he was implying.
"Would it feel okay if we talked a little about your environment at home?" he asks.
The question is soft.
It still feels like a hand reaching toward a bruise.
I hold my posture. I keep my hands in my lap.
"Yes," I hear myself say—because saying no feels like making a scene, and I've been trained not to do that.
Grant doesn't pounce on it.
He treats it like it's normal.
"What does a typical day look like for you, when you're not traveling?"
I blink slowly. "Busy."
Grant nods, as if he expected that answer.
"And when you're home," he adds, "do you feel like you can rest?"
I hesitate, then give him the best version of the truth that won't get me in trouble.
"I can be off-duty sometimes," I say.
Grant's pen stills for a beat.
"Sometimes," he repeats quietly, not mocking. Just noticing.
I keep my face calm. "My husband works a lot. The schedule is unpredictable."
"Your husband being Rodney," Grant clarifies gently, like he's labeling a file.
"Yes."
Grant doesn't react to the name. That's part of his discipline—he doesn't treat Rodney like a headline even though the whole world does.
He tilts his head slightly. "How would you describe your relationship with him? The dynamic between you two. What does that feel like?"