Page 99 of Just The Way You Aren't

"Centered. At peace somehow." She offers a small smile. "It’s a good look on you."

I don't dignify that with a response, but the knowing look she gives me as she leaves suggests my attempt at professionalism isn't as convincing as I'd like. Once alone, I close my office door and pull out my phone.

I hesitate for just a moment before dialing Willow’s number. This is new territory, calling a woman in the middle of a workday simply because I want to hear her voice. But after last night, after everything we shared, the usual rules don't seem to apply.

She answers on the fourth ring, just as I'm preparing for voicemail.

"Damien?" She sounds surprised but pleased. "Hi."

"Hi." Just hearing her voice loosens something in my chest. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's—" There's a clatter in the background, followed by muffled voices. "Well, kind of. I'm at the hospital with Mrs. Reynolds. I’ve been here all day. Turns out she broke her hip, and they're prepping her for surgery."

I straighten in my chair. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything you need?"

"That's sweet of you to offer, but we've got it covered. Her daughter just arrived from Connecticut, so I was actuallyabout to head back to the office." She pauses. "It's nice that you called. I wasn't sure..."

She doesn't finish the thought, but I understand. After our hasty goodbye this morning, she wasn't certain where we stood.

"I told you I would," I say simply.

"You did." I can hear the smile in her voice. "How's your day going? Did the Guardian Productions situation get sorted out?"

"In progress. Alfred's been particularly determined to make my life difficult today."

"Ah, the infamous Alfred. Speaking of difficult, Jane has been hounding me about final donation numbers from the fundraiser. Apparently, we're still getting contributions pouring in. We've crossed the million-dollar mark."

Pride surges through me. "That's great, Willow. You should be very proud."

"Weshould be proud," she corrects. "We make a good team."

The words settle warmly in my chest. "Yes, we do."

There's another commotion on her end, and I hear someone calling her name.

"Sorry, I need to go," she says quickly. "The nurse needs me to sign some paperwork before I leave."

"Of course." I hesitate, not wanting to end the call but recognizing the timing is poor for both of us. "Let's have lunch this week."

"I'd love that. Wednesday?"

I check my calendar and groan. "I've got a client meeting that will run through lunch. Thursday?"

"Thursday I'm delivering meals in Queens all day." She sighs. "What about Friday?"

"Damn it. Board meeting. All day." I frown, unused tohaving this much difficulty arranging a simple lunch date. "Let me see if I can move something."

"Don't worry about it," she says quickly. "We're both busy. It happens."

But I can hear the disappointment beneath her light tone, and it mirrors my own frustration. Before Willow, my schedule was sacred, immutable. Now I find myself resenting the very structure I've always relied on.

"We'll make it work this weekend," I say firmly. "I'll clear my calendar. We can spend the whole day together on Saturday. Whatever you want to do."

"This weekend?" There's a pause. "But remember, I'm heading to the Catskills this weekend to visit my family."

Shit.I'd completely forgotten.

"It's just for two nights," she continues, clearly expecting me to withdraw the offer. "I promised I'd go up for my niece's birthday. But we could do something when I get back on Sunday evening, maybe dinner?"

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