When we stand to leave, my phone slips from my hand and clatters to the floor, skidding under the table. I sigh, rubbing my forehead as I crouch to grab it, nearly knocking my drink in the process.
“Sorry,” I mutter, frustrated. “Sometimes I get a little clumsy when I’m overtired or stressed.”
“You hadn’t eaten,” he says, gently taking my arm to guide me back upright. “And you’re trying to keep control of things that can’t really be controlled.”
I straighten, meeting his gaze. “It’s not a character flaw, it’s just my brain working faster than my limbs sometimes.”
“Right,” he says, mustache twitching as his grin rises. “Havoc.”
“What?”
“Havoc. You’re an absolute weapon until you’re hungry or tired,” he says. “Then everything around you falls apart… and you think ketchup therapy is normal.”
Despite myself, I laugh. It slips out before I can stop it. God, I haven’t laughed in days, and he looks almost pleased with himself.
“That’s rude,” I say, pointing at him.
“It’s accurate.”
I shake my head, still smiling, and for a moment, the world feels lighter.
“For someone so scowly, you’re not half bad at this,” I say, nodding in thanks as he holds the door open for me to step out.
“At what? Annoying you?”
“No,” I say, suddenly feeling shy. “Caring.”
A soft smile forms, and he looks away. “Yeah, well. I try not to make a habit of it.”
He walks me back to the clinic, but doesn’t try to prolong it. A silent, grounding presence beside me. I feel him glancing at me every so often, and I sneak a peek at him when he’s not looking, too. The profile of his nose, his mustache, the strong line of his throat, all silhouetted by the low winter sunlight.
When we reach the clinic doors, I pause.
“Thanks for dropping by.”
He nods. “You’ll let me know what else you need?”
The question feels loaded, but I ignore the feeling that sparks up my spine.
“I will.”
He reaches out, his hand grazing the crease of my shoulder lightly as he pushes the door open behind me, holding it open for me to go through.
“Bye, Havoc.”
When I step inside with a laugh, he doesn’t follow. Just lifts a hand in parting, a small grin on his lips, and walks off into the cold parking lot.
Back in my office, I sit at my desk, the clinic settling around me and the fake plants staring back at me.
I open my browser, hesitate, then add succulents to my cart to purchase. As I close the tab, I notice a tiny smear of ketchup on my hand, the ghost of a word I feel has been topped up today immeasurably.
Hope.
Chapter seven
Only when I’m trying not to get laid
Reid
