“I’ve been a member of the drunk texting community before, and it’s good to know a way to stop your alcohol-infused thoughts from being shared with the rest of the sober world. Trust me, they don’t need to hear the eight-paragraph diatribe about why Taco Bell’s Crunch Wrap Supremes are the superior menu item. One of my more elegant tirades.”

The small giggle escapes accidentally, thunderously loud in the quiet room. When it reaches his ears, Henry perks, up, beaming at me in response. I’m inundated with a fresh wave of heat warming my body all thanks to a perfectly placed dimple.

A perfectly placed dimple I’ve never had an issue with before.

Now it might be my downfall.

“Thanks for the advice. Are you a verbose drunk or are the Taco Bell poems an anomaly?”

“I’m way too talkative for my own good. Talking means spilling secrets. And secrets have no place out in the open.”

“I wasn’t aware the outgoing, vocal Henry Dawson has things he doesn’t want the world to know.”

We don’t tease. We don’t joke. Yet here I am, lobbing a sarcastic remark his way like we’re playing a leisurely game of friendship tennis.

Game.

Set.

Match.

Instead of taking the bait like I thought he would, Henry runs his hand through his hair and I detect an oddly placed smidge of anxious energy. “Not the world. Only certain people. Anyway, Noah says hello.”

“It’s Wednesday already? Good grief. Tell him I say hi back.”

“I love being a messenger between folks who know each other and can interact on their own accord but use me instead, so I’ll be sure to pass it along. Have you eaten lunch yet?” His eyes scan my desk and the trash can sitting against the wall for any lingering remnants of food. Finding none, his smile disintegrates into a frown and his shoulders tense.

“I haven’t. My best friend is meeting me for a late lunch.”

“When is she getting here?”

He asks as if I’m lying to him and trying to evade a meal all together. I hold up my phone, letting him see the message from Nicole announcing her arrival and ignoring the hurricane of unease churning inside me from the lack of messages from other parties, hoping JD doesn’t pick this moment to answer my question.

“Right now.”

Mollified, he nods. “Good. I’ll leave you to it. Have a good day, Emma.”

“Thanks, Henry. You, too.”

He turns and leaves my office, strutting down the hall. The room doesn’t stay empty for long, Nicole taking the chair across from my desk seconds later.

“I know you aren’t his biggest fan, but you cannot deny that Henry Dawson is a hot man,” she says, greeting me. “Holy hell. He’s got to be a ten in the bedroom. Do you think he has a sex swing?”