“Acting like we just made a mistake.”
“Didn’t we?” Her voice is smaller now, uncertain. “My mom coded yesterday. You’re missing the opener because of your shoulder. Winters is documenting everything I do. And we almost?—”
“Yeah. We did.”
“In a supply closet.”
“Not my first choice of location, but?—”
She laughs, short and broken. “God, what are we doing?”
“I don’t know.” I touch her face gently, wiping away a smudge of mascara with my thumb. “But I know I should have followed you inside on Friday.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
I can see the exhaustion in her eyes, the tear tracks on her cheeks, the way she’s still leaning slightly toward me even though she’s trying to pull away.
“You stood up to me day one. Nearly killed me with those band exercises.” I can’t help smiling at the memory. “Plus you don’t take shit from anyone twice your size. You know what that is? Moxie.”
She blinks at me. “Are you giving me a nickname? Right now?”
“Yeah. Moxie. It fits.”
She stares at me for a moment before something shifts in her expression. Almost a smile. “You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
“This can’t happen again.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“Okay.”
“Stop saying okay like you don’t believe me.”
“Okay, Moxie.”
“Don’t—” But she’s fighting a real smile now. “I have to go. I have to get back to the hospital.”
“Let me drive you.”
“I have my car.”
“You’ve been up since 4 AM dealing with your mom.” I step back, giving her space but not too much. “Let me drive you.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Not asking as the guy who just had you against a shelf. Asking as someone who gives a shit.”
She drops her hands, looks at me. Her mascara is wrecked, her hair is chaos, and she looks exhausted and beautiful and like she’s about to break.
“Jake’s probably already told the entire team.”
“Good. Saves me the trouble.”
“This isn’t funny.”
