I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force the relentless nausea away and pretend that I’m not kneeling in a public fucking bathroom right now. After a minute, my stomach seems good and emptied, and I feel brave enough to stand.
A knock echoes around the small space, and I hurry to flush the toilet, wash my hands, and rinse out my mouth. The skin on my face is splotchy as I glance at myself in the mirror, splattered with patches of cherry red and sickly beige.
“Savannah,” a deep voice rumbles on the other side of the door along with two more knocks. “Open the door.”
“Just a minute,” I say, but it sounds weaker and more humiliating than I intended.
I cover my face with a damp paper towel, willing the lingering dizziness away. By some miracle, I do start to feel better and after another minute of deep breaths, the sickness starts to lift. Freshening up the best I can without a toothbrush or a breath mint, I finally open the door.
“Hey,” Warren says with a concerned frown.
“Sorry, I wasn’t feeling good for a second,” I laugh haphazardly. “Would it be alright if we took something to go? I need to get back to the office soon.”
“Sure, but . . . are you sick? I can take you home if?—”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll wait outside if you don’t mind ordering something. I just need some fresh air.”
He takes my hand and gently pulls me toward him. I try not to lean into his touch too much when his hand roams over the side of my face, feeling for a fever. It hits me that I may be embarrassed, but if anyone is going to see me like this and then quiz me about whether or not I’m alright, I’m glad it’s him.
In the middle of that thought, my body inches forward to press against his. Strong arms wrap around my shoulders and back. It’s enough contact and pressure for comfort but not so much that it makes me need to turn right back around and hurl in the bathroom again.
“I’ll get some food,” he says into my hair.
A few minutes later, Warren walks outside the diner with several plastic bags full of to-go boxes in both hands. From my spot on the bench, I laugh and stand to take a few from him.
“What’d you do? Order one of everything?”
“Maybe,” he grins.
We walk back down the sidewalk and his eyes are on me every few seconds. I don’t miss the way he slows down to keep my pace.
“You look a little better already,” he suggests.
I nod and focus on putting one foot in front of the other without falling. I don’t feel like I’m going to spontaneously blow chunks anymore, so it’s not a complete lie. Now I just feel like the wind has been knocked out of my sails and I could lay down for a twenty-four hour nap.
“Congratulations. About the case,” he says and we continue walking.
“I probably shouldn’t have been so excited, I was just really surprised,” I say. It’s disturbingly easy to say exactly what I feel around Warren when I don’t have the mental capacity to talk myself out of it. It slips out of my mouth before I even have a chance to come up with something more upbeat or self-assured. “I thought I had ruined my chances at working on a big case ever again after what happened when I was sent to help at the courthouse last time.”
He thinks for a moment in silence while I mentally curse my inability to time travel and say something different.
“You’re awfully hard on yourself,” he finally says. “It seems like they’re excited about your work. You should feel proud.”
I huff so loud that a stranger passing by does a double take.
“Proud of myself,” I mumble. “Right.”
As we approach the front doors of the office, he turns to face me, blocking me from going in just yet.
“This is what you wanted, remember? Another shot? I’m proud of you.”
I look up at him, straight in the eyes to avoid the dimple in his left cheek and the few little freckles that have become more noticeable over the summer. They’re too distracting and I want to know if he’s serious or blowing smoke up my ass.
“You are?”
There’s no shifting of his gaze or hard swallowing. He’s telling the truth. I try to remember the last time someone toldme to my face that they wereproudof me and meant it. I try so hard that my eyes close trying to recollect those words being said out loud to me.
“Yes, I am,” he confirms, breaking the silence. “Now hand me your phone.”
