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Barrett pulled back, his look now keen. “I bet a lot of people don’t give that kind of consideration. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s all right. I’m used to defending myself from it.”
“Ah, but you shouldn’t have to.” And then Barrett stepped back, taking his warmth and scent with him and some tiny part of Ambrose yearned. He wanted to ask Barrett tostay.
But that wasn’t their path.
On his way out the door, he gave Dandelion another pat and ear scruffle. “Good girl,” he said softly. “Such a good girl.”
“Good night, Ambrose.”
“Night, Barrett.”
That night, Ambrose slept soundly, even though he was curled up on one side of his bed as though there was another with him.
Chapter eleven
Spring
“I’mgladtoseeyou again, Ambrose.”
Ambrose shifted in his chair. Uncrossed and recrossed his legs. “I thought it prudent to return. I wasn’t in the best state before I moved. And now, I’m…” He sighed. “I felt ready.”
The woman across from him smiled. “Well, I’m very glad.” Her boots, fine brown leather with subtle silver buckles, gave him something to focus on as he dreaded that first awful question. “I’m curious if you might want to talk about the move. What changed, what worked, what didn’t. If anything.” She tapped the laptop beside her. “You weren’t terribly detailed in your therapy appointment request, but I’m not looking to push.”
No, you never do. It’s a big reason why when I come back to therapy, I come back to you. You let me talk in whatever order I need. You’re helpful.
“I suppose I’m feeling a little off-center.” He smoothed a hand over his knee. “The move gave me the physical space I needed but the mental space is…slow to come around.”
He had an hour. An hour that was all his. He so rarely took the time to simply talk things out and yet here, he paid for it. But friends were busy and interjecting and while he loved people like Raf, who was actually a good listener, the man was incredibly busy. Just this morning they’d exchanged messages; Raf asking how he was and showing Ambrose a new art piece he thought would be appreciated. And it was, a gorgeous, hand-blown glass vase in a yellow so gold it reminded him of sunflowers and wheat and summer sun through thick green leaves.
Raf was kind and sweet but busy. Ambrose never expected any of his friends, no matter how close, to want to listen to him piece his thoughts together.
“It’s a big adjustment you’re trying to make.”
“It is.” He looked Dr. Fielding over, from her cat-eye glasses and bobbed blonde hair, to the gleaming silver buckles on her boots. She was every inch the polished professional and something about her easy countenance and mild demeanor always put him at ease. He realized it was very likely a crafted look for her patients, but he also liked to think this was simplyher. A subtly stylish fifty-something woman who had seen and heard it all during her long career. When Ambrose had first considered becoming her patient, he’d done a deep dive into her background. Certificates, degrees, awards, volunteer work. It was all up to par with his standards but what had impressed him was her dedication to ethics.
Ten years ago, she’d had a patient who threatened the lives of others and, believing him capable of doing real harm, reported him to the authorities. She’d testified in court but never broke privilege where her career demanded it be kept. That had been the winning point for him; an understanding of what she wasn’t - and was - willing to do. There was no way his petty problems could top someone planning to kill his family, but it was good to know he couldn’t shock her. He so often had wondered if his thoughts were “normal“. Well, he’d never planned to kill anyone, so that bar had been swiftly passed.
The next thirty minutes passed as he talked about those first few quiet nights in the new place. Then came around to meeting Barrett on the docks. Being saved by the man. How unkind he’d been to his new neighbor, the same one who had pulled him from the woods and kept him warm and got him medical attention.
“I was unfair,” Ambrose admitted, looking down at his hands. “But we’re friends now.”
“That’s great, Ambrose.” Dr. Fielding’s gaze was steady but not intrusive. Open to hearing him. “How does Barrett factor into your life, do you think?”
God, she was good. The perfect question. It was the exact thing he’d been trying to puzzle out for himself. “I think of him as a friend. Just a few weeks back we had a nice dinner. Talked about fishing and hiking. He’s a forest ranger, so…”
“So your interests align. That’s a good start.” Dr. Fielding had deep hazel eyes, now half-hidden in the afternoon shadows cast across her office. Ambrose was aware, in every session they had, of that light in her eyes that made her seem interested but not prying. It was like she was made to be a therapist. “What about a deeper connection? There are all kinds of friends. Do you think Barrett is someone you’d enjoy spending time with?”
“Regularly? I do. He’s ….”
Stable. Interesting. Funny. Kind. Generous.
Attractive
Ambrose shook that last one away. “He seems real. I like that, knowing there are still people in the world who keep their feet on the ground. It makes me hope we’re not all self-absorbed monsters.”
Fuck.
