She paused and gave a surprised laugh. “True.”

“I’ll let my mother know. She will be pleased for you.”

“We … we have kept in touch,” she admitted. “Not much,” she hurried on. “Just a few texts here and there. So she knows of my new job.”

“Ah, you keep in touch with my daughter and my mother? I should feel left out,” I jested.

“And yet, here we are. Talking.”

“Oui.” Silence strained. “So … you love it, your new job?” I asked.

“Very much. And I like my new coworkers. No one makes comments that I’m worth having around because I’m easy on the eyes.”

“And why’s that?”

There was a pause. “Apart from the fact it’s sexual harassment?” I could almost see her eyebrow rise from the tone of her voice.

“Of course. Apart from that,” I said. “I’m sure they think that, but they are merely decent.” What man could work alongside her and not be arrested by her natural beauty? The thought of the men who got to spend time with her every day sent that discomforting sludge through my stomach again. Jealousy. There was power in naming the emotion. I was jealous. Jealous of fictional men. So fucking jealous.

“Decent,” she agreed, unaware of my mental frustration. “And most of them are women.”

My muscles eased at the knowledge she wasn’t working surrounded by men who wanted her. But what about her wanting someone? “Are you with anyone else? Have you—” The words just slipping out of me. My smile vanished and I pressed my lips together. Fuck.

The sound of her breath hitching came through the line. “Xavier. Don’t.”

But I needed to know. “Are you?”

“Xavier. Please.”

“Please,” I echoed back at her.

“That’s not fair. This whole thing is unfair. Meredith thinks I’m a nut job, turning down offers to go out in the evenings so I can be on the phone with you. God, if she knew you and I didn’t even talk, she’d have me committed. What are we doing?” Her tone turned introspective. “What am I doing?”

“Wait,” I said quickly, sure she was about to hang up on me. “We are talking. Tonight at least. I … shouldn’t have asked. I have no right.”

“No. No, you don’t.”

Silence stretched. Words congregated and jostled and clogged up my throat, but every one of them were too dangerous to say aloud. They would accomplish nothing but more hurt and more confusion. The pressure built, tension coiled up my back and settled at the base of my skull. Why? Why couldn’t I let go? Why couldn’t I give in? Why couldn’t I open myself up? What was I afraid of?