She’s quiet for a moment, and I think I’ve overstepped a boundary or made this about me somehow, deflecting away from the problems at hand. She stares at me with such a piercing look. Her blue eyes give nothing away, not a hint of what she might be thinking. When she finally speaks, her words are quiet. Fractured. Hesitant. Cautiously trusting.

“I heard what you said; how you stood up for me. For all women, really. Thank you, Henry. It’s rare for a man to call out inappropriate behavior in the workplace. I’ve never heard someone do it before.”

What the fuck have the men in her life been doing to keep her safe? And how the hell is she so calm right now?

How can I help, Emma?

Let me help you carry this burden.

“What that scumbag said about you crossed a line. Multiple lines. I know you can fight your own battles. Fuck, you’re the best attorney in the building. I don’t think you need me to swoop in and help you in a situation like that, exerting some masculine power and considering you a damsel in distress. I just couldn’t sit there silently and laugh. I’d do the same if someone talked about my mother that way. Or my sister. I protect people I care about, Emma, and that includes you. It always includes you.”

Her hand touches my arm, soft fingers pressing into the exposed skin under my rolled-up sleeves. The contact has an immediate effect; my lungs deflate, greedily inhaling air. My shoulders sag. The world appears a little brighter and less bleak.

The gesture awakens me, climbing out of the cave of slumber I’ve been in.

She inhales sharply, head tilting down to study where we’re joined, observing the skin-on-skin contact. I see the moment pass through her mind where she knows she should let go; she should release me from her hold. It’s been too long now, well past a friendly, reassuring moment. Instead, her thumb rubs down my forearm to my wrist and back up toward my elbow, a comforting motion that has me shifting on my feet, heat following her trail.

I think I’d be okay with her touching me forever, never letting go.

“I can fight my own battles,” she starts, severing our contact. I’m cold without her. Lost, too. “But it’s nice to have someone on my side. Sometimes I need backup. We all do.”

“Consider it done. Going forward, no more jokes. Only fighting words.”

“Don’t say that. You wouldn’t be Henry without the jokes!”

“I’ll have to come up with some new material when you get the partner position.”

“Do you really think I’ll get it?”