Jumping up from my chair, I scurry to the corner where my phone has made its home. I crouch down, scooping it up.

No answer.

Read.

No answer.

Not even three dots appear to let me know he’s actively typing out a response.

I can’t text him again. That would be way too aggressive. Maybe I can just burn the device and never talk to him ag—

“Drop something?”

Henry’s voice startles me, and I hit my head on the corner bookshelf.

“Ow.” I wince, rubbing my forehead, a small bump already forming near my hairline.

“Shit, are you okay?” he asks, crouching next to me and holding my bicep to keep me from toppling over. His eyes rake over my face, checking for any signs of damage. “Emma. Are you okay?” Henry repeats, sharper this time. I blink at his concern and the pressure of his warm, large palm wrapped protectively around my skin. Again.

I think I’ve missed it.

“I’m fine.” After a beat, I scoot out of his hold. “What are you doing here?”

“I knocked. It appears you’re having too much of an existential crisis to have heard me. Anything I can help with? Do you need some ice?”

“Nope. Not unless you know how to hack into an iPhone and delete an unintended text message that’s already been delivered.”

“I’m going to need more details. What kind of message? Is this like a dick pic scenario? A cute photo of a puppy dog? Quoting an entire song from Hamilton? Telling someone off for not knowing the difference between your and you’re?” He sounds amused as he stands, towering over me.

Damn him. He gets me to crack a small smile even in my panicky despair.

“Why would I want to unsend a song from Hamilton?” I ask, peeling myself off the carpet.

“Maybe the person doesn’t like musicals.”

“True. What’s up?”

“I’m dropping off a file for you. An actual file. Since we’re friends now.”

“Are we friends?” It’s a valid question I ponder as I walk back to my desk, plopping in my chair. Every time we interact now, it’s less awkward, becoming more natural and… compatible.

“What about amiable associates? Casual colleagues? Blasé business buddies? Dutiful desk mates? Tubular teammates?”

Now I can’t resist the smile sneaking all the way through. “Wow. Better. Thanks. An army of alliteration is always appreciated.” I take the folder from his outstretched hand.

“How’s your day going?”

“Not too bad.”

“Until you freaked out over a text you sent and tried to break your phone and your head in the aftermath?”

“Yup. Up until that point, it’s been great.”

“Next time, if you put your phone on airplane mode while the message is being sent, it won’t deliver the text.”

“Really? How the heck do you know that?”