“Thank you for seeing me on short notice.” The humor drains out of him in an instant. A brief look of defeat crosses his face and he sags further into the chair. I take a deep breath and decide to get on with it. We’re already here.
“Of course.” I look at George’s open file. He was a new client, too. I get a lot during the holiday season. I close it and set it aside. I hardly knew the man for thirty minutes, but it’s still odd.
I pull out a blank notepad. Soren watches me take the pen cap off with the sort of mild hostility common in those who’ve never had therapy before. I’ve been growing achingly tired with things lately, but now I’m grateful for the well-worn monotony. It’s helping me shake off what just happened.
“So, you’re Soren Erikson, then?”
“I am. You’re Doctor Moore, then?” He mimics. A slight smirk begins to curl the side of his mouth, but he drops it the instant I notice. He rubs his mouth and readjusts in the chair.
“Sorry,” he says with a frown. “I should be more serious in serious situations.” There’s frustration and a bite of anger in his words.Divorcee indeed.Guess someone’s ex didn’t like a sense of humor to lighten the mood. Then again, maybe she thought he was a psychopath too.
Stop it, I tell myself.
“I’m depressed,” Soren admits with a sigh. I’m a little surprised at the ease he talks about his mental health. He’s reluctant to discuss the reason his marriage dissolved, though. Instead, he keeps me focused on the emptiness he feels when his kids are with their mother. Along with the difficulty of the recent move to the East Coast, when his ex is still on the West.
The amount of eye contact while we talk is making me flush. I’m upset with myself. He isn’t flirting with me; he’s just European or something. His accent is practically non-existent, but there’s a hint now and again. Given his name, I’m assuming he’s originally Norwegian. They probably love staring each other in the eyes over there. It’s probably a sign of very platonic respect.
I’ve been giving him far too much attention ever since he burst into the room. There’s nothing off or disturbing about him that I can tell. What psychopath goes to a therapist because he’s depressed that he can’t see his kids everyday?
I’m just far too aware of him—the amount of space he takes up, the flutter in my belly when he smiles, the way his eyes settle on me as if there's nothing else in the room. My fascination with him isn’t secret psychopathy he’s expertly hiding. It’s because he’s extremely attractive.
I swallow thickly and decide my dry spell has gone on long enough if I can’t focus on clients' problems over their good looks. I push all those thoughts away as best I can to focus on this strong, tall, windswept paramedic who is achingly handsome and needs my help.
I clear my throat.
“You need to focus on yourself while your kids are with their mother.” His eyes dip to my mouth as if reading my lips. I tug on my turtleneck and straighten my back.
“Routines can be helpful to fall back on. Also, what do you do for fun?” I ask.
“Scroll on my phone,” he admits with a wince.
“Consider this an opportunity for self-improvement. Get back into something you had to give up.” He frowns a little. “Or try something you always wanted to get into but couldn’t for whatever reason.” That seems to be the better choice because he perks up.
“Maybe,” he says softly. “I’m not sure I should.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“It’s… selfish.” He’s picking his words with extreme care for some reason.
“If you can concentrate on a new hobby, I think it would help you a lot.” He takes his time digesting my words.
“Is it really okay?” He asks, rubbing his jaw as he leans back in his chair. The question isn’t directed at me, but I choose to answer anyway.
“Yes, Soren. It’s okay to explore new things when your kids aren’t around.” We stare at each other until I look away suddenly.
“There is something I’ve always been interested in. It felt unrealistic. Risky.” He rubs his mouth as if in thought, but I spot a smile behind his hand, which he’s trying to hide.
“Can I ask what it is?”
His eyes widen in shock.
“Photography,” he blurts out, looking alarmed for a moment.
“That’s risky?” I ask with a small smile.
“Very.” He winks at me.
I look down at my empty notepad. I've been so concentrated on looking at him that I’ve written no notes.
