“Noah—” Her voice breaks. “I can’t fall apart. Not now. Not when Stella might?—”
“You don’t have to be strong right now.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Not with me.” I mean it. “Not here.”
For a long moment, she just looks at me. Then, so quietly I almost miss it:
“Hold me?”
I open my arms, and she comes to me—not gracefully, but like someone who’s been holding herself together too long and finally has permission to stop.
She tucks against my chest, and I feel the moment she breaks—silent tears soaking through my shirt, her fingers gripping my sides like I’m the only solid thing in her world.
I don’t say anything. Don’t tell her it’ll be okay or that she’s safe. She’s too smart for platitudes.
Instead, I hold her. One hand on her back, the other cradling her head. And I let her shake apart.
Minutes pass. Maybe longer. The TV cycles through commercials. Rain patters against the windows.
Eventually, her breathing evens out. The trembling stops.
“I’m sorry?—”
“Don’t.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth. Hesitates. Then lifts back to my eyes.
The air shifts.
“Noah…” It’s not a question. Not quite.
I know what I should do. Stand up. Keep boundaries. Remember she’s a client, she’s vulnerable, she’s miles out of my league in every way that matters.
She pulls back just enough to look at me.
Eyes red. Clear.
I should stop this.
She’s vulnerable. I know it. She knows it.
I don’t move.
She does.
When she leans in—slow enough that I could stop this, that we both could—I don’t.
The kiss is soft. Careful.
Her hand comes up to cup my jaw, and careful becomes something else entirely.
I pull her closer, and she comes willingly—shifting until she’s straddling my lap, her fingers exploring my shoulders, my neck, my scalp, her mouth opening under mine.
It’s not about comfort anymore.
“We should—” I start, but she shakes her head.