Page 137 of Josephine and Clay

He leans back against the counter, arms folded loosely. “I don’t doubt your capability, Josephine. You’re one of the most capable people I’ve ever hired.”

“Then—”

“But capability isn’t the same as support. You’re allowed to have both.”

The words settle into the room.

I hate how many people keep saying some version of that to me.

Penny, Dr. Harris, the quiet, treacherous part of my own mind.

“I don’t know how,” I admit.

“That’s alright. You don’t have to know all at once.”

“I really prefer knowing things all at once.”

“Yes,” he says dryly. “I’ve noticed.”

I almost smile. He picks up the chart from the counter and closes it. “You’re going home.”

“I have appointments.”

“I’ll cover them.”

“You can’t cover everything.”

“I ran this clinic before you arrived.”

“That was clearly before you understood proper vaccine fridge organization.”

His mouth twitches. “I’ll survive.”

“I’m fine now.”

“You cried for six minutes.”

Mortifying.

“Was someone timing me?”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “No. But I’m a veterinarian. I estimate suffering for a living.”

Against my will, another laugh slips out.

He smiles then, small and warm. “Go home. Sleep. Eat something with nutritional value that isn’t a cracker. It’s doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not my doctor.”

“I’m your boss. Worse.”

I take a breath. It trembles on the way in. “If I leave, it’s not because I can’t handle my job.”

“I know.”

“And it doesn’t mean I’m unreliable.”

“I know that too.”