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I know I’ll pass Gwen’s desk when I walk through the sea of tables, cubicles, computers, and ringing phones.
The walk never used to mean anything to me. But right now, as I force my worked muscles to move, I feel it start up: the speedy heartbeat, the rush in my veins, the aliveness.
Then I spot her desk up ahead.
She’s sitting behind it, erect and poised, her face to her computer screen.
Though she’s facing the screen—and won’t look my way—I know she knows I’m walking toward her.
I feel this electricity passing between us. When her eyes flick upward, they connect with mine immediately.
She quickly looks away, back to her screen.
I slow my pace, then stop at her desk and tap my knuckles against it. “Morning.”
She bites her lip, and pink blossoms on her cheeks. She keeps facing the computer screen. I see her chest rise and fall a few times as she draws in quick breaths. “Well… Hm. This is new. Good morning.”
She opens her mouth, like she wants to say more, but she closes it before words can escape.
There’s a question in her eyes.
What is it?
I want to know. “Something on your mind?”
“It’s just—for years… for years, I used to say good morning to you. You never said anything back.”
“That was before you were my assistant.”
“Right…” Her eyes hook on mine. And before we kissed, she says with her look.
I nod as though she’s spoken.
We’re doing it again. Communicating without words. “I bet you thought I was a real jerk.”
She bites her lip.
“A monster, even.” I reach into my front pocket and find the small, hard plastic case. It’s the size of a container of dental floss, but that’s not what it is.
I set it on her desk.
She tilts her head quizzically. “What is this?”
“My hearing aid.” The department is open concept, and I’m very aware that my employees could be watching.
I don’t like wearing a hearing aid. It makes me feel old. I keep it out whenever I’m on video because I don’t want my audience to think I’m anything less than strong and whole. And I keep it out other times, too, like when I work out, swim, or shower. Most days, I don’t put it in until the afternoon. It’s my secret.
But Gwen’s softness affects me.
She is unguarded in a way that makes me want to be a little less guarded, too. Nearby employees might hear this, but I don’t mind.
She examines the case wordlessly. “Hearing aid…” she murmurs. “So… you didn’t hear me?”
“Not once.”
“For all those years?”
“If I heard you, I’d have answered,” I tell her. It’s happening again: the under-a-spell sensation. Though the navy cardigan is formless as always, nothing could hide the natural glow that seems to radiate off her. She looks beautiful.
