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“I think it is.” He shrugs, easy, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “I could use another friend. And I’d really like it if that friend was you.”

Friend.

It’s a safe word. A small, sensible, nothing word.

My pulse doesn’t get the memo. It has no business doing what it does over the word friend.

“I’d like that,” I say.

He stands, gathers our empty cups in one hand, and holds the other out to me.

Not a hug. Not anything that could be mistaken for too fast.

Just his hand.

I look at it, and I understand exactly what he’s doing. He’s giving me the version I can say yes to. The one with the door left open and no pressure leaning on it.

I slip my hand into his.

“Friends,” I say.

“Friends.” He closes his fingers around mine, gives one slow shake, and holds on a half second past what the word allows. His eyes hold too. “Good.”

Then that grin. The one I’m already in trouble over.

“Because I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be really good at this.”

Chapter 7

Olivia

By eight-fifteen, I’ve already changed outfits twice.

Not because I don’t know what to wear.

Because changing clothes feels easier than admitting I’m nervous.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, toothbrush still in one hand, staring at my reflection.

“You’re a therapist,” I tell myself. “You literally teach people how to do this.”

My reflection doesn’t look convinced.

I smile anyway.

One of the first things they teach us in graduate school is that knowing the tools doesn’t make you immune to needing them.

It just means you recognize when it’s time to use them.

I set my toothbrush on the counter and rest both hands against the vanity.

“Okay.” I take a slow breath. “Wise Mind.”

The words feel familiar. I’ve walked clients through this exercise more times than I can count.

Turns out, sometimes I need the reminder too.

I close my eyes.