12. #2
"Your ski trip," I repeat. "With your friends. Dr. Lennox said you were—"
I stop.
Her eyebrows lift. "Grant said that?"
My stomach drops.
Smooth, Naomi.
"Yeah," I say quickly. "Last session. I asked where you were."
"Oh." She nods slowly before laughing. "Yeah. It was fun."
The door down the hall opens.
Grant steps out.
The moment he sees me, something in his expression shifts—just slightly. Not obvious enough for anyone else to notice. But I do.
"Naomi," he says. "Good to see you."
"You too," I reply.
I grab my purse and follow him down the hall, my heart picking up speed for no real reason.
Inside his office, everything looks exactly the same.
Same soft lighting.
Same chair.
Same faint, clean scent in the air.
But it doesn't feel the same.
"Have a seat," he says.
I do.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence isn't awkward. Just aware.
Then he says, "How's the White House transition going?"
I shrug. "Boxes everywhere. People everywhere. It feels less like moving into a home and more like moving into a museum."
That earns a small smile. "I can imagine."
"I don't think I'm allowed to even move a chair without five people approving it first."
He chuckles softly. "Sounds exhausting."
"It is," I say. "But... some of it isn't so bad."
"Oh?" he asks.
I nod. "They're pushing me more into the criminal justice reform stuff. Speeches, panels, community programs."
His expression brightens. "That sounds like it aligns more with what you studied."
"It does," I admit. "And I actually like it. I just wish I had a more hands-on role. Not just... smiling and reading speeches someone else wrote."
He leans back slightly. "What would a more hands-on role look like to you?"
I hesitate.
Then the words come out before I can second-guess them.
"I've been thinking about going back to school."
Grant's brows lift. "Really?"
"I already took my LSAT," I say. "My score's good for two more years. So... technically, I still have time."
"That's a big step," he says. "How do you feel about it?"
"Excited," I admit. "And terrified. Mostly because Rodney would hate it."
Grant's expression shifts slightly. "Why do you think that is?"
"Because he'll say it's unnecessary," I reply. "Or bad for optics. Or that I should focus on my role."
"And what role is that?"
I give a small, humorless smile. "Looking supportive. Smiling at the right times. Wearing the right dresses."
Grant's jaw tightens.
The room goes still.
I shift in my chair, crossing one leg over the other. My knee brushes the edge of his desk.
His eyes drop to the movement, then come back up to my face.
Something about the look lingers a little too long.
I feel it in my chest. In my stomach. Low and warm.
I clear my throat. "What?"
"Nothing," he says. But he doesn't look away.
Silence stretches between us.
The kind that isn't awkward.
The kind that feels like it's holding its breath.
I lean back slightly, trying to regain some composure. "You're staring."
"You're avoiding eye contact," he replies.
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because I have a reason to."
His brow lifts slightly. "And what reason is that?"
My mouth opens.
Then closes again.
Because the answer feels too obvious.
He leans forward just a little, thank god the desk was there dividing us.
"You've been nervous since you walked in," he says quietly. "And not in the usual way."
My heart stutters.
"I'm not nervous," I say.
"Then what are you?"
I swallow.
"I don't know," I admit.
And for a second, neither of us moves.
Then a soft knock hits the door.
Both of us jerk back slightly, like we've just been caught doing something wrong.
Grant straightens in his chair. "Yeah?"
Isabel's voice comes through the door. "Your two o'clock is here."
Grant glances at the clock.
Session over.
The spell breaks—but not completely.
The knock lingers in the air even after Isabel's footsteps fade down the hall.
Grant glances at the clock, then back at me.
"We've got about five minutes," he says.
I nod, but neither of us moves to fill the space.
The moment from a second ago hasn't fully disappeared. It's still sitting between us—quiet, charged, unfinished.
I shift in my seat. "That was... good timing."
"For who?" he asks.
I let out a small breath. "Probably both of us."
He studies my face, like he's trying to decide if that was a joke or a confession.
I stand first, smoothing my hands over the front of my hoodie. "I should get going anyway. Vivian's probably waiting to drag me into something else."
Grant rises too, a step behind me.
"Thursday still works?" he asks.
I nod. "Yeah. Thursday's fine."
We walk toward the door together. Not touching. But close enough that I'm aware of every small movement he makes.
When we reach the door, I turn to face him.
He's closer than I expect.
Close enough that if either of us leaned forward, it would happen again.
The air shifts.
My breath slows.
His eyes drop—just for a second—to my mouth.
Then back up.
"Naomi," he says quietly.
It sounds less like my name and more like a warning.
Or maybe a question.
I don't move.
Neither does he.
The moment stretches.
Long enough that I can hear my own heartbeat.
Long enough that I know exactly what's about to happen if one of us doesn't step back.
Grant's hand lifts slightly—like he might reach for my arm.
But he stops himself.
His fingers curl back into his palm.
"Thursday," he says again, voice lower now.
I nod. "Thursday."
I reach for the door handle, but my hand brushes his on the way.
It's barely a touch.
Skin against skin.
But it feels louder than it should.
I pull back quickly, heart racing.
"Bye, Dr. Lennox."
"Bye, Naomi."
I step into the hallway. The cool air feels sharper than it did before.
As I walk past the front desk, Isabel gives me a small wave. I return it automatically, my mind still stuck in that office.