Page 58 of Letters From A Stalker

“For punctuality?”

“For emotional stability.”

Her mouth twitches as she reaches into the small refrigerator beside her desk and hands me a bottle of water. “Ambitious.”

“I thought so.”

She laughs and goes back to whatever she was doing on her computer while I take my usual seat in the waiting room. I answer two emails from work, delete one from a mailing list I have unsubscribed from at least four times and spend absolutely none of the remaining minutes thinking about the fact that I now know what Kai Blackwood looks like and Google still doesn’t. That would be weird.

The heavy door down the hall opens several minutes later.

“Julia.” His deep voice fills the waiting room and I look up.

And, fine. No matter how many times I see him, there remains something fundamentally unfair about a psychiatrist looking like that. Today’s suit is charcoal, the vest beneath it fitted neatly across his torso and his white shirt crisp enough that I briefly wonder whether he owns an iron or simply intimidates wrinkles into submission. His dark hair is pushed back from his face, and the thin frames of his glasses catch the overhead light as his amber eyes settle on mine.

Objectively attractive. That is all.

I slip my phone into my bag and stand. “Dr. Blackwood.”

One corner of his mouth lifts as he steps aside for me. “You sound unusually formal today.”

“I’m trying something new.” I chirp in a way that earns me a raised eyebrow from both him and Mara.

“And how is that going?” He asks, digging his hands into his pockets, his head tilting to the side a little.

“Terribly.”

“That was quick.”

“I’m adaptable.”

A quiet breath leaves him that isn’t quite a laugh, but it follows me into his office anyway.

The room has already become familiar enough that I notice the small changes. One of the books on the low shelf behind the usual spot where he sits during our sessions has disappeared. The blinds are angled differently today, letting pale afternoon light fall in narrow stripes across the rug. His coffee sits near the edge of his desk rather than beside his laptop. And my lounge chair awaits unmoved.

My chair. I drop my bag beside it and sit, adjusting the hem of my blouse before opening the bottle of water Mara gave me.

“You didn’t bring snacks.” I notice.

Kai closes the door behind us and moves toward the chair opposite mine. “The budget request was denied.”

“By management?” I raise my eyebrow in mock wonder.

“Very difficult people.”

“Shame.”

“I intend to appeal.” The tone of his voice is almost as smooth as the movement of his hand over his upper thigh as he straightens the material of his suit pants, and for some reason my eyes follow every stroke.

“Thank you.” I manage.

He unbuttons his suit jacket before his glasses come down slightly as he looks at me over the top of them. I pretend not to notice.

“How was your week?”

“Good.”

His pen remains suspended above the notepad on his knee.