I fold her into my body and I’m instantly surrounded by the crisp, lemony scent that’s been driving me crazy since the first moment I met her. Her petite form is so much smaller than mine, but it feels incredibly perfect pressed against me. I can place my cheek on the top of her head and her brown locks are soft against my skin.
The feel of her in my arms and her scent in my nose all hit me in the gut so hard I almost can’t breathe. There’s the hot rush of desire, of need, but there’s also a burst of panic. Because she is clearly in emotional pain.
Which makes this exactly the kind of situation I will undoubtedly fuck up.
I’m the kind of guy who can’t send a damn thank-you email to a business colleague without somehow insulting the person. A sobbing woman that I care about—if Tavey is to be believed—is so far out of my skill set I might as well be trying to cross a high wire stretched between two skyscrapers. Or two continents, for that matter.
I have got to get the heck out of here before I say whatever the hell it is that I’ll inevitably say that will make this worse for her.
“Is there someone I can call to come be with you?” I clear my throat. “Maybe that English lit friend of yours? The one who told me you had classes in Bryan on Thursday nights.”
“Liz is out of town.” She sighs. “And, no, there’s no one else I want to see right now.”
Somehow she sounds even more sad.
Which just about guts me.
Her arms are around my waist and one of her hands is rubbing small circles against my back. It instantly reminds me of when I was a boy and my mother would gather me on her lap and hold me tight. When you have sensory issues like I do, sometimes you need that tight hold to feel safe. I didn’t know until this exact moment that I missed it. That I still want to be held. That I still need to be held.
I walk us backwards until my back hits the wall. I slide down, until I’m sitting with my back to the wall and then I pull her down on my lap. She fits perfectly with her head tucked under my chin, her cheek pressed to my chest. It’s now my turn to rub the circles on her back.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I got disappointing news.”
“About?”
“Does it matter?” she asks.
“Apparently it does.”
She tilts her face to look up at me. She shakes her head and gives me an eye roll despite her sorrow. “God, you are such a jerk sometimes.”
But she doesn’t sound mad as she says it. Maybe amused. Or maybe that’s grief and I’m confusing the two.
“Why?”
“Why are you a jerk? Or why am I noticing it now?”
“The former.”
With a sigh, she tucks her head back under my chin with her cheek once again against my chest. Her free hand is still rubbing gentle circles, though her hand has shifted from my back to my obliques. “You’re a jerk because only you could be sarcastic and kind in the same moment.”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic. Your news is obviously important to you. Therefore, it matters.”
I instantly want to tell her that everything in her life matters to me. That she matters to me, but that doesn’t make sense.
I’m just here to return Carl’s keys and get my soil samples.
Despite that, I have zero interest in asking for my soil samples.
Since she seems to be floundering, I prompt, “Sometimes it helps to talk about things.”
“Does it help you?” she quips.
I frown. “No. But it’s been documented that for women, having a supportive social network slows the degradation of their telomeres, so—”
“Max,” she says my name on a breath and my heart tightens.
