Page 2

The frigid December air burns my lungs in a good way. It numbs everything. And that’s exactly what I need, to be numbed. It’s been my default emotion for a while now. It keeps the fire at bay. And the pain. Only to find me in my sleep, when my guard is down.

I wake to the reminders every morning. So I repeat the routine, numbing myself with a run. A swim. A workout. Anything physical to get the thoughts out of my body. Out of my head. And as soon as my legs start moving, I release it.

There’s no reprieve today, no matter how far I run. I’m blindsided again when I get to the office and open my email to find a message from Collin.

“What the hell?” I mutter. I read through it quickly. It only requires a few words and a click before it disappears.

“Ready?” Carla asks from the doorway of our shared office. There are three of us in this space that’s not much larger than a dorm room. I can’t complain. It’s better than the open foyer where the interns sit—where I sat the year before last. No privacy. Lots of distractions. And in full view of everyone.

I gather the folders needed for the meeting and snap my laptop shut, sliding it into the computer bag that I sling over my shoulder. “Yeah.”

I follow her into the open studio of the architectural firm. The design is striking, with its clean lines, wooden beams, and original factory windows stretching from floor to ceiling. It’s cloudy, so the natural light is muted. Leather and metal furnish the interns’ workspace along with the reception area. A coffee station in the far corner is busy with last-minute cups to fill before we settle into work for the day. Several co-workers sip from their mugs and converse in low murmurs around tall tables. I’ve had enough caffeine at this point in the day. More would only make it impossible to sit still.

The office is busier than usual with both meeting rooms in use. The owners of LK Architectural Firm each have a presentation today. Our team is partnering with an engineering firm on a large-scale project. Lowell is working on several high-end residential properties. She’s the one Priscilla introduced me to when I was searching for an internship. They consistently work on projects together.

“Hello, Jonathan.” The mature, distinguished voice cuts through all stray thoughts and abruptly halts my steps.

I force myself to meet her eyes. The same clear, liquid-blue eyes as her daughter.

“Hi, Priscilla.”

She doesn’t say anything more. Her eyes assess me from head to toe, taking in every inch. She nods curtly and walks into the office where Lowell greets her.

I feel like I just got appraised for an auction block.

“Thank you for rescheduling for today,” Priscilla says, taking hold of Lowell’s hand. “I appreciate the accommodation.”

My shoulders release the tension that held me as still as steel. I’ve only seen Priscilla Prescott twice since I began working here as an intern nearly two years ago. Full-time upon graduating last spring. I’ve been afraid I’d see her more since she’s the one who referred me for the internship during my junior year at Penn State. I could say that she’s the reason I got this job, except I know I earned it.

I walk into the second conference room just as the teams seated around the table erupt with laughter at something playing on the screen. By the time I look, it’s gone, and the project title and logo are in its place.

“I’m so, so sorry,” comes from the back of the room. “I really didn’t mean to do that. I swear. I uploaded—”

“It’s okay, Rachel,” Gerald Malcavoy interrupts. He’s a partner at the Building Bridges engineering firm. And Rachel Walace is his assistant. Our teams have been meeting bi-monthly since July, preparing for this project to break ground in the spring. I wish I could say these mishaps are rare, but Rachel has a way of causing havoc.

She gives me a small smile, pressing her lips together to keep it from blossoming into something bigger. I tip my head in the slightest nod and take a seat.

“Didn’t expect to see you in today,” Kellan says quietly, gripping my shoulder. Does everyone know? Suddenly Priscilla’s presence doesn’t feel so random. He stands and announces to the group, “Let’s begin.”

Two hours later, I’m filling my water bottle in the break area while Rachel’s messing with the espresso machine. I try not to notice, but she’s talking to herself, or maybe the machine. I think she’s about to hit it like an old car that won’t turn over when it finally starts gurgling, and she lets out a sigh of relief.

“Everything okay?” I ask her, screwing on the top of my water bottle. We’ve exchanged small bursts of conversation the past few months. That’s as much as I can invest right now. Focused on keeping my head down and getting through each day.

“Perfectly terrible,” she admits, swiping the back of her hand across her brow to clear away strands of hair hanging in her face, leaving behind a black streak.

“You have something—” I point to her forehead. The mishap causes an unfamiliar spasm in my chest. I need to get my shit together. There’s no escaping with a run in the middle of the workday.

Rachel goes to wipe it off with the same hand. I catch her arm before she can make it worse. Her eyes widen at my touch. I immediately let go.

“Sorry. It’s just—” I nod to the edge of her palm that’s streaked with marker.

She examines it and swears so colorfully that I raise my brows, re-evaluating the comparison I subconsciously drew to all the times Sadie made a mess of herself, sometimes on purpose. Rachel’s response isn’t even close. Not sure if I should be impressed or wonder where in her life she needed to talk like that. Instead, I laugh. It was unexpected coming from this small, attractive woman. This gets her laughing too.

“Oh honey,” Lynette says from behind us, wetting a towel and squirting soap on it. “You’ve made a mess of yourself.”

“Per usual,” Rachel says when her laughter trails off. “Thanks.” She takes the towel, excuses herself, and walks toward the bathroom.

“That woman is an accident walking,” Lynette comments as we watch Rachel nearly concuss Carla with the door on her way in.