My screen flashes.Incoming call.
I blink.A call?From him? It’s just Rafe. Just a voice I’ve heard before, a face I’ve literally stared at, eyes I focused on. This will be easy, simple. I take a breath and answer.
“Hey.”
Chapter 22
Very Important Discussion
My voice sounds steadier than I feel. The sound he makes in response isn’t quite a word, it’s relief, tender and warm.
“Hey,” he says back, low and cautious. “Sorry for calling. Texting felt wrong.”
“I shouldn’t be taking this call,” I tell him. “Idefinitelyshouldn’t have given you my number. This is… borderline unethical.”
A quiet hum of amusement. “Is it? You discharged me. Very official. Signed, sealed, escorted out with instructions not to do anything stupid.”
“That doesn’t mean I should be gettinginvolvedwith you,” I say. “Or talking to you at all. You’re—”
“Involved?” he repeats, pleased. “Firsttouched, now involved. That’s another interesting word choice.”
“It’s a term,” I say quickly. “A professional one.”
“Mmm,” he murmurs. “I thought we were just talking about rare Swedish albums and museums. Didn’t realise we wereinvolved.”
“We’re not,” I sigh. Why did I have to use that word of all the words in my vocabulary? Mary help me.
“So does this mean I'm your secret?” he continues, slower, more thoughtful, “I’ve never really been asecretbefore. Usually people want to post me everywhere. Use me for what it gets them. Even when I’d rather not be… public.” A pause. Then, lighter again. “This is different. Kind of fun.”
“No,” I say quickly. “You’re not mysecret. You’re notmyanything.”
Silence stretches, considered.
“Well,” he says, smiling through the word, “is there an application process?”
I bite the inside of my cheek and close my eyes. That was unfairly charming.
“I’m not kidding,” I say, grasping for ground.
He laughs softly. “Relax, Kasia. You’re safe with me, I promise.” A beat. “I’ll keep all your dark secrets, even if I'm not one of them.”
I press the phone closer to my ear, sinking deeper into the pillow. There’s noise on his end, faint, the scrape of a chair, a mug being moved, maybe paper. It’s late where he is, too. The kind of late that softens everything, makes honesty feel less like a risk and more like a reflex.
"Anyway, I'm working on translating that song but the phrasing keeps dying on me. Maybe you can help me resuscitate it."
I laugh before I can stop myself, the sound spilling out.
“Pretty sure your phrasing’s breathing just fine without me.”
He chuckles under his breath, and the sound hits me low in the stomach.
"If you help me I'll promote you toartistic consultant.A fancy title and everything." I can’t help it, I smile into the dark.He sighs, something heavy clearly on his mind, the weight cutting through all the playful bravado. “I just… needed to hear a voice that’s not asking for something, for a minute.”
The way he says it, finds somewhere deep inside me. I know that feeling too well as a doctor, everyone asking you before they can move on, make a decision. When the world turns into noise and every word starts sounding rehearsed.
“You picked a strange therapistat one in the morning, do you know that?” I say, trying to keep it light.
He laughs, joyful and unguarded, my heart swells at the sound. After, the silence lingers, charged.
