"Itishaunted, baby. There's no thinking to it," Christopher says with a chuckle. He holds out a hand to Jerome, and it solidifies my thoughts that they're a couple.
“Well,” I sigh. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
We don't need to figure it out, because I'm going to make sure she's okay. From now on, she's my responsibility.
“Thanks, you guys. I love you so much. I’ll call both of you tomorrow, okay?” Sarah says softly as she leans forward into Christopher’s and Jerome’s embrace.
It’s been a long night. They took her key and retrieved some of her clothes from her house with a promise to be back later for her bed. Currently she's swimming in the long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants that the nurse from the hospital had given her. Shehad to tie the pants up with a hair tie to keep them from falling. She looks adorable.
It came as no surprise to me when she didn’t want to stay in her home, even for one night. Too many bad memories to haunt her and give her nightmares, she'd explained.
I wait patiently as they take their time fussing over her. I’m basically running on pure adrenaline alone. It's almost midnight. Christopher dropped us off at my car at my office, and I promised them to take her to her office from there, considering she shouldn’t be driving so soon after her miscarriage. She said that’s where she’d been sleeping. And, feeling protective, I want to check it out to make sure it's safe and suitable.
I insisted that I needed to take it from here.
Their car doors slamming and the engine turning over disrupts the quiet night air. They give us a wave as they pull away, and I turn and eye her. She looks so tired.
"Ready?" I ask softly, opening my passenger door for her.
She nods but keeps her eyes averted from mine when I help her in gently with a hand on the side of her waist, trying to be mindful of her back. My fingers brush the deep swell of her hip as I pull away and gently close the door behind her before getting in on the driver's side.
Taking her cue, I drive in silence while the navigation system chirps directions from the car's computer system. As we pull in, I take in the small blue and grey stone house curiously. Cheap lighting illuminates the front. It's adorable, and to be honest, it looks like it fits her perfectly.
"This is me," Sarah says, but I remain quiet as my eyes sweep the property.
The house has an oak wooden door, a bay window in the front, and that's it. It's small, and the driveway holds enough space for maybe four cars. I get out and round to her door, opening it and helping her out. Crickets break the hushed silence, and I ignorethe overgrown grass tickling my ankles as I stand patiently waiting for her to place her hand in mine.
"Can you walk?" I ask.
“Yes. Thank you,” Sarah says softly, leading the way to the front of what she’d called her little office house. The slow pace has me itching to pick her up, but I need to respect her boundaries after her traumatic experience. "Sorry about the grass."
I arch a brow, a grin tipping the side of my mouth. "There's no reason to be sorry for something like that."
Her skin flushes pink as she walks to the door and unlocks it. Waiting behind her, my smile broadens just a bit at how her bone straight hair is looking a little puffy in the back, and she keeps putting a hand back there and smoothing it down. I erase it off my face the moment she gets the door open and turns the light on.
I step into the house she’s converted into her practice and get a good look, immediately hit by how soothing it feels in here.
My eyes roam greedily, trying to take in everything at once. She painted the place light gray and topped it with molding I wouldn't have expected to see in a house like this. My shoes slip a bit on the well-maintained wooden floors, and when I look down as I try to catch my balance, I can see my reflection in the wood it's so polished.
I'm a bit jealous at how cozy her place is compared to the sterile environment of my office. A tiny stove for warmth is the main focus of the seating area which boasts two plush purple couches and a weathered leather chair. Lots of little plants sit in the bay window, and there's so much beautiful art. It's gorgeous. And to top it off, it smells good.
Like autumn and warmth.
There's even a little kitchenette through a door in the back that I bet is well stocked. I turn my head, looking past a smallbathroom to see two other doors down the small hallway, with a little sound machine on the floor outside of one of them.
She heads to the back, and I follow her. Keeping an appropriate amount of distance between us as we head towards the door that has the sound machine on the floor next to it in the hall. I allow her space to enter into the office first and watch her be swallowed momentarily by the darkness, making me frown. But not for long.
"Hang on," she says in a weary voice, fumbling around for something.
The space is suddenly illuminated in a soft golden glow via a lamp on her desk. My eyes flicker around the medium-sized space that holds a desk, computer, a small sofa, and a wingback chair. I briefly wonder where her file cabinets are and any other junk. She seems really tidy. My eyes return to her and roam her body curiously as she rounds her desk, pulling out a drawer and dropping her big tote in with a light thump, keeping her phone in her hand.
“I like your place. It looks like you," I mumble. My eyes wander around the room again, then flicker to her eyes. “Not that I know you well enough to know what looks like you. I don’t mean to be presumptuous.” I half-smile at her, seeing that she's still pressing down on the back of her hair self-consciously.
She doesn’t say anything, remaining quiet. Understandable after what she'd been through today. Empathy tugs at my heart at the little bags under her eyes and deepens the hurt I feel for her. She looks incredibly tired. Worry causes the muscles in my face to harden as my eyes roam down her body again, seeing her press her fingers into her stomach and rub little circles.
Renewed sadness wells up inside of me at the action. Poor baby.
I square my shoulders, determined to not let her fall so soon into a melancholy state. I want to make sure she's okay, and I'mdamned sure going to make sure I get her into some trauma counseling. Biting the inside of my cheek, I narrow my eyes slightly as I pivot to her open office door. Where's she going to sleep?
