I touched his arm lightly and he startled at the touch. “Hey.”

As soon as he saw me his eyes lit up and he almost pushed up for a kiss, but at the last moment just tapped me on the shoulder.

“You were something in there.” I pointed my chin in the direction I’d seen the woman go. “Was that lady related to Ms. Suarez?”

He nodded with a sigh as he lifted a hand, indicating we head up the stairs. “That’s her mom.” He spoke so low I had to bend down to hear him. “She’s pretty amazing, put herself through nursing school while taking care of three kids on her own.” His eyes softened as he talked about the woman. “I hope we did what we needed to do in there,” he said, shaking his head.

As we got to the landing he pointed at a door that read District Attorney’s Office.

“I just have to grab my stuff. Everyone in the office is headed to Nesto’s thing, so we all agreed that we’ll reconvene some time tomorrow. The jury is not deliberating until Monday morning. It’s a waiting game for a few days.”

He sounded tired, and I knew he was probably exhausted. I’d slept at his place for the last few nights, and every morning he’d been up and out by 4:30 a.m. He’d go for a quick workout at the gym in the building and would be in his office by 5:30 a.m. I was pretty intense about my gym time, but even I couldn’t keep up with Easton’s hours.

“You’re exhausted,” I said as we walked through a cluttered mess of cubicles and offices.

He lifted a shoulder, the smudges under his eyes more noticeable in the bad fluorescent lighting. “I’ll just be a minute. I’d give you a tour of the office, but all we have is piles of paper and bad carpeting.”

He wasn’t lying.

I thought my small office in the economics building was a blast from the past, but this made my office-in-a-box seem sleek and modern in comparison.

The entire space looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the seventies. Clearly a place where people were too busy to think about décor.

It was not how I’d envisioned where Easton spent his days.

I’m not sure why I thought that someone who worked for the county would have an office that looked like a Wall Street law firm, but that’s what I’d imagined. Now, walking into his small and cluttered office, painted in a very non-pleasing bright blue, the reality of who Easton Archer was hit me. He had opted into this. Knowing the family he came from, I was almost certain there was an empty office somewhere decorated in sleek leather, hardwood and chrome he could’ve claimed. That he walked away from, to do this.