Page 102 of None Of Your Business

I’ve become familiar with her presence in a way I never intended to.

And all week, I’ve been dreading tonight. Her last Tuesday.

Tuesdays mean Rowan. This observation room means Rowan. Coffee at six means Rowan sitting inches from me, her foot tucked under her thigh.

After tonight, none of it does.

∞∞∞

The session wraps up just after seven. The lights in the main room dim as people gather their coats and leave. Rowan waits until it’s empty, then stands up and stretches her arms over her head, her sweater pulling up just enough to expose a sliver of pale skin at her waist.

“You should consider sleeping before Friday,” I tell her.

“I’ll put it on my to-do list.” She picks up her bag and looks around. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“Neither of us is dying, Rowan. I’m sure we’ll see each other.”

“Oh?”

“Your show is on Friday.”

“It is.”

“And the city is not being evacuated immediately afterward.”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“So, presumably, our paths will continue to cross.”

A slow smile starts at the corner of her mouth. “Our paths? Is that the clinical term for it?”

“What would you call it?”

“I don’t know. You voluntarily tolerating my existence?”

“Voluntarily is generous.”

“See? This.” She gestures between us. “I’m going to miss this.”

I want to tell her I will too. Instead, I say, “Who else is going to deface my stationery?”

Her smile softens into something quieter, her green eyes holding mine. “Exactly.”

The room suddenly feels too small. Too fucking still.

I’ve sat beside this woman for hours. I’ve carried her home. She’s fallen asleep against my chest. I’ve watched her laugh, deflect, wince, lie terribly, and care fiercely about people when she thinks nobody is looking.

I don’t know when it happened, but she stopped being a data hazard a long time ago and became the person I expect to see.

The person I look for.

It’s easily the most dangerous thing I’ve ever allowed to happen.

She clears her throat. “Well, I should go.”

“Probably.”

She narrows her eyes. “Stellar farewell, Doctor. Truly moving.”