Best of 2017

“I was embarrassed.” My cheeks grow warm from the admission.

“You never have to be embarrassed in front of me. I won’t judge you.” His statement is true. There isn’t an ounce of judgment in his voice. “Do you want to tell me about them now.”

I shake my head.

“I understand.”

We sit in silence for a few seconds. The waitress comes over and he orders a milkshake and a burger. When she turns to me, I reply that I’ll only have water.

“You have to get something.” Dr. Montgomery says as the waitress walks away.

“I already ate dinner.”

“So get dessert.” I’ll have you for dessert. Thank God he can’t hear the dirty thoughts playing through my mind.

“It’s too late to eat dessert.”

“It’s never too late for something sweet.” With that he smiles, and a part of me melts, right then and there at the table. His lips turn up a fraction and I blush.

“Why are you eating so late?” I blurt out, trying to right my improper thoughts.

“I went downtown to see a movie right after work.”

“Really? That’s cool that you got to go out after work. I have too much to do this week, but on Friday, Corner Bar here I come.”

“Yeah, normally I don’t go out during the work week, and on the weekends I go to Oak. But whenever a new foreign film comes out, I go to the afternoon or evening show on release day,” he admits and I can’t hold back the giggle that escapes. “Hey, are you making fun of me?” He pretends to pout.

“Sorry, that just slipped out. I totally didn’t expect that. Once again, you caught me off guard. Sledding, foreign films—you’re the most interesting person I know.” Did I just say that out loud? “So. Um. How did you get into watching them?”

“So, I went to NYU. Well, at the time my girlfriend and I were both film majors. She loved foreign films, every time a new movie came out, we had a tradition to see it on opening day during the afternoon to avoid the crowds.”

“And you still keep this tradition?”

“Yeah.”

“And does she?”

“She’s dead.”

My mouth drops open at this information. “Oh.”

“A new film came out today so I went.”

Running my hands through my hair, I try to come up with any response. “Okay, cool.” God, I’m lame. He tells me his ex-girlfriend is dead and all I can say is, “Okay, cool.” I study him for a minute. “Actually, you do seem like the type to watch foreign films.”

“And what type is that?”

“The deep, dark, and brooding type.”

“Wait, do I really seem that way?” He grimaces.

“Kind of. You’re pretty serious all the time.”

He looks down at his hands on the table, then lifts his eyes to meet mine. His usual pale blues appear flat and lifeless. “I’m only that way with you.” His tone is low and he sounds apologetic.

I don’t speak for a moment, trying to absorb what he just said. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

Uncomfortable, I shuffle in my seat. “How did you mean it?”

“You’re my patient. I have to act that way.”

“But why? We’re just two people drinking coffee and having a conversation.”

“No matter where we are, we’ll never be just friends having a cup of coffee.”

“I-I don’t understand.” My voice rises louder than I intended and he peers around the room before leaning into the table and answering me in a whisper.

“As your psychologist, there is a trust level we have to have. Our relationship is about you. If it starts to be about me, then lines have been crossed.”

My chest hurts. I hate this. “I don’t think it’s that black and white.”

“It has to be. This . . . Me eating with you . . . Even this is frowned upon.”

“Then, why are you here?”

He shakes his head and bites his lip. “I needed to see you. Make sure you were okay. I guess I can’t stay away.” A muscle in his jaw twitches and I know he wants to say more but doesn’t.

“I don’t want you to. I feel comfortable with you, and I don’t normally—” My voice shakes as my lips tremble.

“You shouldn’t feel comfortable with me. Being friends . . . We’re asking for trouble.”

“I don’t care, so why should you?”

He looks down and lets out a sigh. His gaze lifts again. “It’s not me who cares. It’s the APA.” My eyebrow lifts in confusion. “The American Psychological Association. They care,” he clarifies.

The thought rips me apart.

I want to continue to argue that it’s okay, but I know he won’t concede. I don’t want to lose this, so I release an exhale and put on a fake smile. “So, tell me about this film,” I say, essentially changing the conversation. If this is all I get, I refuse to waste it talking about why we can’t be friends.

Once we’re done and Dr. Montgomery pays the bill, we both get up to exit the restaurant. As we approach the door, he holds it open and allows me to exit first. When I pass through, he places his hand on the small of my back, and my body tenses as electric currents tingle from where he touches me. Reality starts to blend with this fantasy bubble of two friends having a late night bite together in the city.

“My place is this way.” I gesture in the direction of my apartment.

“I’m in the opposite direction, but I’ll walk you back.” He shifts his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet and I think he’s not ready to part ways, either. “You’re on Thirty-Third, right?”

“Yeah, the high-rise on the corner. But you don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He becomes quiet as his eyes roam over me. They’re beautiful. Were they always so clear? What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to get out of here. I need air and distance from this man who’s clouding my better judgment, because right now I don’t give a damn about the APA or whatever it’s called. All I want is to have him stare into my eyes and smile.

“When you get home, I want you to practice your breathing and visualization. I would also suggest running a bath.”

“Okay,” I squeak. The idea of him knowing I’ll be lying naked in a bath has my cheeks going warm.

“Okay, great. I think that should really help tonight, but if it doesn’t you can call me, and we can talk through it before we meet on Friday.”

Neither of us speaks the rest of the way to my apartment. When we get to my high rise, I turn to face him and accidently lose my footing. My body lurches forward. I’m about to collide with the cement when two strong arms catch me. He pulls me toward him and holds me in his arms.

Looking up, our eyes lock. I get lost in his mesmerizing blues, never wanting to leave the comfort of his strength, but then I see his cheeks pale and a curse pours from his lips. He presses his lids closed for a moment before reopening them and pulling away from me. I don’t know what to do or how to make the moment right, so I reach forward and my hand touches his.

Gently . . .

Softly . . .

I hear his inhale of oxygen as the pads of my fingers press against his skin.

“Thank you, Dr. Montgomery.”

He exhales.

“Please, call me Preston. After waffles, late night calls and saving you from falling. We can be on a first name basis.” He laughs to make light of the situation, but it makes my whole body warm.

“Goodnight, Preston.” His name rolls off my tongue like a dirty secret. Like forbidden fruit. Like something I want to say over and over again but shouldn’t.

“Goodnight, Eve.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EVE

I DASH into the office on Friday morning with a minute to spare, but it wouldn’t matter if I were late. Most of the staff works from home anyway. The beauty of marketing is you can do it from anywhere, which has been great for me since the funeral and the start of my panic attacks. But unfort

unately, with the new project I’m working on, I need to meet with Michael every day, so working from home isn’t an option.

My eyes roam the room and I wonder if Sydney is here yet. She left the apartment early this morning and I didn’t see her. While I search for her, I notice Barry standing by the windows. When he sees me, his pupils grow and he moves in my direction. Not in the mood to deal with him, I look for an escape. With steady steps, I head to the break room and as if I conjured her, Sydney is by the Keurig.

“Hey, you,” I say as I step into the room and reach for a mug.

She peers over her shoulder and smiles at me. “What up? God, am I tired.” My stomach tightens. I wonder if she’s tired because I kept her up last night with my nightmares. Or worse yet, that I’ve been keeping her up for weeks with my nightmares.

“Where were you this morning?”

“Oh, I had to pick up a banner I ordered for a client.” The machine roars to life and she leans in closer to speak.

“This new presentation is kicking my ass. What’s going on with you? I never see you anymore. You’re always off running around, and when you’re home, you’re holed up in your room. You doing okay? Did you get any sleep last night?”

“I guess, kind of.” I smile through a yawn.

“How’s therapy going, by the way? Figure anything out yet?” Her eyebrow rises and I laugh.

“It’s not like that, Syd. I’m pretty sure it will take more than a handful of sessions and one phone call to fix me.”