Page 165 of Josephine and Clay

I set my phone face down beside the patient chart and reach for the pen clipped to my jacket pocket. Then I put the pen down, because I don't need it. Then I pick it up again, because having something in my hand makes me look occupied.

Dr. Harris pauses in the doorway of the exam room.

I don't look at him. “Josephine.”

“I’m updating the chart.”

“The chart is blank.”

I look down. It is, in fact, blank. “That’s because I’m thinking first.”

“Mm hmm.”

I lift my gaze. He’s watching me over the rim of his coffee mug with the kind of patience that suggests he’s about to be helpful in a way I will deeply resent.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were going to.”

“I was considering it.” He glances at my phone. “Someone bothering you?”

“No.”

A pause.

“Someone not bothering you enough?”

I give him a flat look. “That's not a professional question.”

“No, but it was a good one.”

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes against the counter.

My entire body reacts.

It's deeply embarrassing.

Dr. Harris notices, because of course he does. He has the observational skills of a border collie and the tact to pretend otherwise only when it suits him.

I pick up the phone.

Clay.

My stomach tightens before I even read the message.

Can I see you on your lunch break?

That's all.

No joke or teasing nickname. No easy charm wrapped around the words to make them safer.

I stare at it until the screen starts to dim.

Dr. Harris clears his throat.

I lock the phone. “I’m taking lunch at noon.”