I hurry back into the clinic, practically jogging to my office. Sally is back at her desk, typing something into her computer.
I walk straight past and into my consulting room.
I start to bend to pick up the next box, but pause. Maybe I should wait a minute or two. Give Grim time to go inside, do whatever he needs to do, and leave.
Then I think about what Sally mentioned earlier in the week. Someone at the center complained about Grim. Apparently, he needs to be on his best behavior now, actually making an effort to get along with everyone.
I frown at the wall of my office. Why would someone complain about him? Sure, he’s not exactly Mr. Sunshine, but he’s never rude. Not really. He just…keeps to himself and isn’t much of a conversationalist, which is fine. I mean, he does his job.
I like him just fine.
He’s just fine the way he is.
The point is, I can’t believe someone would be that petty. To actually file a complaint because a guy doesn’t smile enough or make enough chit-chat? It seems wrong somehow.
You know what, I’m being silly hiding in here. I should just put the boxes in my trunk and get my butt home. I’m going to have an early night. I need to start work at the crack of dawn tomorrow if I have any hope of finishing in time.
I pick up the next box and head back out to reception. Grim is there, standing at Sally’s desk. His broad back is to me, and I can see the muscles in his shoulders shift under his white T-shirt as he gestures at something Sally is showing him on her computer.
My stupid heart speeds up again.
I’ve been making an effort to be nice to him. Ever since Sally told me about the complaint, I’ve felt so bad for him. It’s hard, though, because I’m so darned shy around him. Every time I open my mouth near Grim, my brain short-circuits, and I say something awkward or weird.
But I have to try to be nice. Some of the other staff haven’t had the nicest things to say about him lately. I refuse to be one of them.
I take a breath. “Hi, Grim.” I manage to sound relaxed despite my emotions…and the heavy box.
He barely glances over his shoulder at me and grunts a hello.
That signature grunt that makes Sally crazy, but that I find oddly endearing.
I adjust my grip on the box and head for the door. I’m almost there, already wondering how I’m going to manage, when suddenly Grim is there.
He pushes the door open for me, holding it wide.
“Thanks,” I tell him, slipping past.
“I can take that.” His deep voice rumbles from right behind me.
Before I can protest, he plucks the box from my arms. Our fingers brush for half a second, and I swear I feel an electric shock run up my arm.
It’s official: I’m an idiot.
“Thanks,” I mutter, my face heating.
We walk to my car in silence. I’m hyperaware of him behind me.
I open my trunk, and he sets the box inside next to the first one.
“Do you have any more of these?” he asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice. Then I remember I need to actually use words like a normal person. “Three more.”
We head back toward the clinic. Once again, I can feel him behind me, hear his steady breathing, and it’s making me intensely aware of every step I take.
Inside, he surveys the remaining boxes in my office. Then, without a word, he stacks two boxes on top of each other and lifts them both like they’re made of feathers.
“Put the third one on top,” he says.
