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I sling my purse on my shoulder, keys in hand, when TJ’s office door swings open. The girl is no longer crying as she follows him out, a wad of tissues balled in her fist.
“You did good coming to me tonight.” TJ wraps his arm around her shoulders. “I’m proud of you.”
She shrugs and looks at the floor. “Thanks.”
TJ lets her out and turns to me with an apologetic look. “You didn’t have to wait this long.”
I hold my hand up. “I was in the middle of something. Don’t worry about it.”
“Why don’t you head home? You can help my computer-illiterate ass tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind staying a few extra minutes.”
TJ smiles. A soft one—one I haven’t yet seen. It does things to my insides.
In his office, we wait for his computer to power up. “Was everything okay with that girl?” I ask. “She looked really upset when she got here.”
“Yeah, she’ll be okay. She’s a recovering addict.”
“Oh. Are you her sponsor?”
“No, but the people who come here know my door is always open if they’re having a hard time.”
I know nothing about alcohol addiction, so I don’t ask the questions I have. I point to the computer instead. “Click on the folder that says Clients.”
I show him how to alphabetize his client list using an Excel spreadsheet. He catches on quickly, so it doesn’t take too long. “Now you click File. Then click Save.”
“Where does it go when you save it? How do I find it when I need it?”
I bite my bottom lip. “You saved it to the Clients folder. Look at your desktop and you’ll see it.”
TJ’s eyes narrow as he side-eyes me. “Don’t laugh.”
I hold my hands up on either side of my head. “I’m not laughing.”
“You bite your lip whenever you want to laugh but know you shouldn’t. It’s a thing you do.”
Busted. “I’m sorry. I just can’t get over the fact that you own a business and have no idea how to make a spreadsheet. It’s like you’ve never used a computer before.”
“I didn’t grow up with a computer. Never had the need for one.”
“Well, now you know how to make a spreadsheet and save it.” I stifle a yawn and glance at the time on the computer screen. “Tomorrow, we’re getting crazy. I’ll show you how to print something.”
“I’m sorry for keeping you here so late.”
“Stop apologizing. It’s fine.”
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks.
“Taking a bath. Reading.”
“You should go out. It’s Friday night. You’re young.”
“You say it like you’re old.”
“I am old.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not that old. You’re twenty-five, not seventy-five.”
