13. Willa #2
“I don’t know what it means. Or maybe I do and I’m just—” I glanced down before meeting Fred’s too-knowing gaze again. “Scared I’m reading into it. Or maybe I’m not reading into it enough. The scribe could show up tomorrow and none of it would matter because we can’t prove something that’s still—”
Becoming, I didn’t say. Still forming. Still fragile.
Movement in the hallway caught my eye. Traig stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame.
I couldn’t read his expression or tell if he’d heard what I’d said or if he was just passing by.
Laina appeared behind him, stopping short when she saw him standing there.
She looked between us, her gaze sharp.
“Have you seen the way he looks at you?” she said, her gaze meeting mine.
Traig’s hand tightened on the doorframe, but he turned and walked away. His footsteps echoed down the hall. Not running but definitely retreating.
Laina’s gaze followed him before returning to me.
“He’s terrified of this,” she said quietly, gesturing between where I sat and where Traig had been standing. “Of wanting something he can’t control.”
My throat closed.
“I know the feeling,” I said.
Her smile lifted but only for a second. “I thought you might.”
I was packing up to go home when Traig left his office and stopped near the reception desk, his tablet in both hands. His hair had come loose from its tie, falling forward around his face. He looked like he’d been dragging his hands through it for hours.
“The scribe arrives tomorrow,” he said.
“Yes.”
He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and turned it toward me. Formal Orcish script that I couldn’t read but didn’t need to.
“Midday,” he said.
“What will you tell them?” I asked.
His hands tightened on the tablet. “I don’t know.”
I waited.
“I’ve been trying to document it,” he said. “Build a framework. Create evidence of—” He stopped. “But I can’t document something that doesn’t exist. I can’t prove a bond I haven’t—”
“Traig.”
His eyes met mine.
“What do you want to tell them?” I asked.
The question hung between us.
“The truth,” he said. “That I think about you constantly. That I arrive early to make your coffee. That when you reorganized the intake form, I wanted to change it back and couldn’t because your version was better and that felt like—” He stopped.
“Like what?”
“Like letting go.” His voice dropped. “Like trusting someone rather than holding onto control.”
My throat ached.
“I want to tell them you’re mine,” he said.
“That I chose you. That every coffee and every label and every time I didn’t argue when you moved something was me choosing you.
” He dragged a hand through his hair. “But I can’t ask you to be my solution, Willa.
I can’t ask you to save me when what I actually need is to choose you because I want to, not because I have to. ”
The air left me.
“And I don’t know how to prove I’m choosing you when everything about this situation makes it look like I need you only for this instead.”
I left my chair and walked around the counter, stopping in front of him.
His hands were still wrapped around his tablet, holding it against his chest like a shield. I reached up and took it from him, setting it on the counter.
“Willa—”
I tugged him down and kissed him.
His hands came up to frame my face, his palms warm against my cheeks before he slid them into my hair.
He made a sound low in his throat that went straight through me.
I grabbed his shirt and held on.
His mouth moved over mine with an intensity that made my knees forget how to function. One of his hands moved from my hair to the back of my neck, holding me in place. I pressed closer, wanting more of this, more of him, more of whatever this was becoming—
Fred’s grumble cut through the haze.
We broke apart.
Traig’s forehead dropped to mine.
“I’m afraid,” he whispered. “Of many things. But I’m no longer afraid to admit it.”
We stood there, breathing the same air, close enough that I could count his heartbeat against my chest.
“Willa—”
“I need to think,” I said.
His hands dropped to his sides.
“Not about—” I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “Not about this. About tomorrow. About what it means. I just need to think.”
His face shuttered.
“Of course,” he said.
I grabbed my bag before I could change my mind and tell him things I wasn’t ready to say. Things that felt too big for this moment, with the scribe arriving in less than twenty-four hours and everything hanging on what happened next.
“Goodnight, Traig,” I said.
“Goodnight.”
Inside my Jeep, I sat with my hands on the steering wheel, staring at the building. Through the window, I could see Traig’s silhouette. Still standing at the reception desk. Still alone.
Fred floated into view, bumping against the side window.
I put the Jeep into drive and left.
At home, I set my bag on my kitchen counter and pulled out my notebook. It fell open, and I read.
Traig brought me coffee before I arrived.
Traig ate nine of my cookies and pretty much groaned the entire time he ate them.
Traig apologized for not telling me about Rue’s potential adoption right away.
He shared something about his family that makes him feel vulnerable.
I flipped back through the previous entries. Pages of small things that had added up to something I hadn’t let myself name yet.
My pen hovered over a blank line.
Traig said he wanted to call me his.
My hand shook writing it.
Traig kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him standing.
I closed the notebook before I could write the rest.
I made tea I didn’t drink. Took a shower that didn’t make me feel any different. Laid in bed staring at the ceiling.
At some point, I must have slept, because when I woke up, sunlight was streaming through my window.
I was late for work.
And the scribe would arrive today at noon.