Page 14 of His Wall

She held my eyes a beat longer than she had ever held them.

I had asked her to call me Julian three times. My stomach flipped.

"How did dinner with Declan go?"

I switched the bag to my other hand. "I'm sorry?"

"The reservation last night. The patio place. How was it?"

The patio place. The one she had booked. The one I had told her last night, on my way out the door, that Declan had canceled because Lena was running a fever.

I tilted my head.

"Claire. I told you he canceled last night. I came back to grab the Whitfield file."

She blinked. Once. The pleasant not-quite-smile stayed where it was.

"Right. Sorry. Long night."

She smiled. A full one. Small, but full. The corners of her mouth came up, and the mouth stayed there, and she held it for about two seconds longer than was natural and then let it go.

I had no idea what to do with my face. "You okay?"

"I'm great. Can I get you a coffee?"

"Sure. Yeah. Thank you."

I walked into my office.

I sat down at the desk. I set the paper bag on the corner. I rolled the cuffs of my shirt up another turn, and I leaned back in the chair and stared at the door she was standing on the other side of.

Something had changed overnight.

I had no idea what.

I heard the espresso machine down the hall.

She came in with the mug in both hands. She set it on the coaster beside the keyboard. She did not let go right away. She had her thumb on the rim and her other fingers wrapped around the body of it, and she stood there for a second after the mug was already on the desk.

Then she let go.

She turned, but didn’t leave the office. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe.

I had seen her stand inside that doorframe two hundred times in four months. She had stood at attention for every one of them. Notebook in front of her chest. Feet aligned. Weight even. Right now, her left hip was angled against the wood, and her right hand was hanging at her side. She was looking at me.

My throat closed.

"The Whitfield lunch is at 1:00 p.m."

"Right."

"His assistant called. The CFO has a shellfish allergy. Did you want me to adjust the order, or are we sticking with the menu?"

"Whatever's fine."

"You're sure?"

"Whatever you think."