I look up and smile at Blaise, standing in the doorway with a stack of papers in her hand.

"Hey, Miranda asked me to drop these in your inbox."

She drops the paperwork in the basket on the corner of my desk and plops down on the couch in the corner. I glance at the clock on the bottom of my screen and, sure enough, it's a quarter to five. This has become our routine every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the past few weeks, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't look forward to it.

Working with Blaise around is much easier than I thought it would be. Our paths don't cross for the most part. But almost every afternoon she works, she stops in my office for the last ten to fifteen minutes of my work day to chat, usually to complain about her professors or her mom, or to tell stories about Eliza.

I send my email and power down my laptop before I look back at her. "So, what's up?" I ask, leaning back in my chair and crossing my ankle over my knee. She's smiling wide and practically bouncing in her seat.

"I just had a meeting with my advisor and they hired a new Criminal Justice professor. She's a woman, and she's a public defender from Chicago, so she has a different perspective of the system than most C.J. professors."

"That sounds promising."

She smiles wide and crosses her right leg over the left. "Yes, but what's even better is she's starting a drug court diversion program here. It's basically where instead of jail time and a record, addicts have an option of rehab and monitoring. They've done it in Cincinnati for years and it's really reduced overdoses and crime." She swings her right leg back and forth like she usually does when she's really excited.

"That's awesome. And a perfect combination of your interests in social work and criminal justice."

She smiles wider. "Which is why Dr. Singleton recommended me for the externship. The opportunity to be on the ground level of a program like this? It's huge."

"I'm sure you'll be brilliant."

Her smile drops. "I have to get a spot on the program first. It's open to all colleges and universities in the region. It'll be competitive" She chews on her cuticle. "It's going to be a lot of work just getting the application materials together."

"You are one of the smartest, most capable people I know. You've got this." I grab a notepad and pen and move to sit in the club chair across from the couch. "What do you need? And by when?"

"Oh no, You don't have to help me with this."

How could I not? I've never seen her this excited. "I want to. I think this could be great for you." She looks up at me and it's another one of those electric, intensely intimate moments I should not be having with a student. I tear my eyes away and clear my throat. "And imagine the marketing we could do for the program if one of our Adair Scholars were selected for such a prestigious externship."

Her smile falls a little and she nods. "Yeah, of course." She chews on her cuticle silently and turns her head to stare out the window.

"What's wrong?" I look at her until she meets my gaze and I see the storm brewing, conflict and indecision in her gaze

"The boyfriend is going to hate this."

The word "boyfriend" is a blow to my chest. This is an area we have avoided in our short conversations. Of course I know she has a boyfriend, but she doesn't really talk about him. We only refer to him as "the boyfriend", and that's on the rare occasion she mentions him at all. It's weird, but I like it. It makes him less real. It's hard to be jealous of some ambiguous idea.

"Why would you think that?"

"Between school and work and family stuff, he just gets very protective about his time with me. And he gets worried when I put too much on my plate. Because of my anxiety."

The boyfriend sounds like an asshole. "Maybe instead of limiting you he should instead help you carry the plate?"

She contemplates this for a moment. "Yeah," she sighs. "I'll talk to him about it. I'm sure it'll be fine."

She doesn't look sure at all. "Regardless of what he says, this is a great opportunity. I just want you to make the best choice for you."

"Oh, I will. I trust him, and I value his opinion, but I wouldn't let him stop me. Especially since we've only been dating for a month."

A month? I do the math in my head. She was single when we met. And now she's not. She's been falling for him the whole time I've been falling for her.

The thought stops me in my tracks. I'm attracted to her, obviously. Maybe infatuated. Certainly in lust. But am I falling for her? No. But only because of my deliberate, labored efforts to keep her at arms length. I could fall for her though, easily if I allowed it.

She pulls her legs up on the couch, stretches out and lays her head back on the arm rest, sighing.

"You know I'm not a shrink, right?" I chuckle slightly, teasing her.

"I know. But I like talking to you." She stares at the ceiling as she says it, and I'm relieved she doesn't see my face, see how happy that makes me.

I've been wanting to broach the subject for a while, but have been hesitant to cross personal boundaries. "Have you considered seeing a professional? For your anxiety?"

She sits up and narrows her eyes.

"I'm not trying to be intrusive, I just know therapy helped me deal with anxiety."

Her face relaxes, and she plops back down on the couch. "You've had anxiety?"

"Mhmm."

"Like me."

"Yes. Like you."

She smiles. "And you went to therapy?"

"Yes."

"Did you -" she chews on her cuticle as she stares at the ceiling. "Did you ever take meds?"

"I did. For a long time. And I'll go back on them if I need to. They helped."

She lays in silence for several long moments, and I watch her process the information. 

"Is that how you knew what to do? On the bench?"

"Which time?"

"Smartass," she drawls. She smiles again, but this one is different. Wistful. I wonder if she's reliving the memories of our time together, as I so often do.

"But yes. That's exactly how I knew what was happening. And I'm happy to help. Feel free to vent to me whenever. I like talking to you, too, you know?" I shouldn't admit that to her, but its the truth. And the last thing I want her to feel like is a burden on me.

A genuine grin spreads across her face and I can feel the warmth of her smile in the center of my chest. Then it drops. "Oh my God. I'm a selfish asshole," she says, sitting up suddenly.

"What?"

"You don't talk to me. You listen to me talk. I never ask about you." The crease that settles between her eyes reminds me of the first time I saw her stewing over the pastries at Roasters.

"How are you?" she asks, sincerely. 

I chuckle. "I'm fine, Blaise. Thanks."

"Seriously, I come in here and prattle on about God knows what and you just sit there listening to me like the patient saint you are." Saint? She has no idea how wrong she is. She tilts her head and squints her eyes as she appraises me.

"What's your favorite movie?"

"The Empire Strikes Back."

"Good Answer."

I didn't know this was a test, but I'm pleased to find I'm passing.

"Favorite color?"

Until recently, it was green. "Blue," I respond, looking into her eyes.

"Favorite person?" It's her, but I can't tell her that, so I think of my next favorite person and grin, realizing now how similar they are.

"Caroline. My niece. She's wild and bold and wicked smart."

She grins, seeming to like that answer, too.

"Are you..." she pauses and chews on her cuticles again. "You know my roommates, what about you? Roommate? Girlfriend? Goldfish?" She blushes and diverts her eyes when she says the word "girlfriend"".

"No roommates. No girlfriend." She smiles, so slightly and so briefly I almost miss it. "No fish, either. I have a cat. Jack." She wrinkles her nose. "Let me guess, you're a dog person?"

"Well, I'm not a masochist or a sociopath, so I'm certainly not a cat person. Cats are assholes." I chuckle again, more amused than offended at the stereotype.

"Hey, you'll hear no argument from me." I laugh a little thinking about Jack. "Jack is a little jerk, but I love him." I shrug.

"James Bradford, you're a softy." I like the reverent way she's looking at me. I like it too much. "But I'm surprised. You don't seem like a pet person." What does that mean? What does that say about me?

"No? Why do you say that?" I ask, almost afraid of the answer. Does she think I'm cold? Unlovable?

"Pets are messy." She says it simply, without judgment. It's just another fact.

"And you think I'm not?" 

"I know you're not." I arch an eyebrow in challenge, curious to know why she thinks that, and she takes the bait.

"Your office supply closet is immaculately organized and color coded." She points to the small closet to the left of the adjoining half bath, another perk of having an office in an old converted house. "The pencils in the top drawer are all perfectly sharpened and arranged in descending height order, tallest to shortest, left to right." She smirks at me, and continues.

"I expected the books to be as well." Her eyes dart to the bookcase to my right. "At first glance the shelf seems messy. But it's not. They're in alphabetical order." She sits back and smiles sweetly.

"Maintenance vacuums every Friday, but you have a sweeper in that closet you use every day before you leave. And you fluff these couch pillows before you leave, too, even if nobody sat here."

I marinate in my stunned silence for a beat. "Damn," I say, rubbing the coarse hair on my jaw. "You think that's weird?" It is weird. I'm almost impossible to live with. Carrie made that clear on more than one occasion

She shrugs. "I think you're just one of those people who need order and routine to thrive." Her eyes pierce me so deep I'm in physical pain. I don't know that anyone has ever been so right about me.

"Which brings me back to how you ended up with an animal that sheds and shits in your house." And just like that, she lightens the room, pulling me out of my self-deprecating and introspective mood.

I chuckle. "Jack was my sister's cat, but when the cat kept trying to climb in Caroline's crib, they had to rehome him. To my home."

"You have a sister," she says with a smile.

"Yes. A younger sister. Like you."

"Like me." She whispers. Her smile expands, and I can't help but reciprocate. I've always enjoyed work, and this office has always been a bit of a distraction and a solace. But now? With her here? It's quickly becoming my favorite place.