“I love the snow,” she murmurs.
The wonder in her voice as she says it has my heart squeezing in my chest. Almost like it’s been years since she’s taken the time to look at the snow and she’s seeing it again for the first time. It makes me want to say a prayer to the weather gods to make it snow every day this winter, so Julie gets to see it over and over again, anytime she wants.
Her body relaxes back against me as she stares out the window, her breathing steadying, her heart starting to slow. I loosen my hold on her, shifting to run a hand up and down her arm as I keep talking.
“Snow is magic. Even growing up in Boulder where it snows all the time, I never get sick of it. It’s my favorite thing. Now, when I go back to visit my family, I get to play in the snow with my nieces and make it magic for them.”
I keep talking to her until her head drops back onto my shoulder, her breathing even and her heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm. Feeling that her panic has subsided, I keep my voice gentle and ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Julie sighs, leaning more heavily against me. “Talk about what?”
“About what brought on the panic attack you were having when I walked in here.”
I don’t know what post-panic attack universe she was livingin, but I feel the exact second she snaps back to reality. Her entire body goes rigid, and she jerks away from me, shooting up to her feet and looking wildly at the papers scattered on her office floor. She bends to gather them up, muttering to herself. I catch the words “mistake” and “account” and “probate” but not much else. When I see her hands start to shake again, I stand, putting myself right in front of her and circling her wrists gently with my hands. Her eyes meet mine and they are filled with fear and a muted version of the panic I saw earlier.
“Talk to me, Blondie. What’s going on?”
I see the hesitance on her face. The reluctance to talk. But it’s mixed with something else that looks a lot like…longing maybe? Like she wants to share but she’s afraid of what will happen if she does. I know just what to do.
“You know, I do stupid shit all the time. Sometimes it’s intentionally stupid, like when I decided to bake cookies the day before the game a couple of weeks ago to prove to my younger sister that she’s not better than I am just because my mom brings her homemade cookies. I wanted to show her that I could make my own, you know? And other times it’s a real mistake, like when I threw an interception straight into a defensive back’s hands like I thought he was on my team or something and then he scored, and we lost.”
Like I intended it to, my rambling has the corner of her mouth lifting slightly.
I gather the papers from her hands and stack them on her desk before taking both of her hands in mine. “I promise that whatever is going on, it’s going to be okay. Whatever happened to make you panic can be fixed. You’re Julie Parker. There’s fucking nothing that you can’t do. But it’s also okay to ask for help.”
She’s staring at the floor, so I let go of one of her hands and cup the side of her face, tilting her head up until her eyes meetmine. “Let me help you, Blondie. I think you might be the strongest, most capable person I know. Asking for help doesn’t make that any less true.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I made a really big mistake, Asher.”
I keep my gaze locked on hers. “Tell me.”
Shockingly, she does. She sits in her chair, and I lean a hip on her desk while she tells me every detail about a dead client and an account that was supposed to be transferred to a trust before he died but wasn’t. About how it’s much more complicated to make that transfer after someone dies. About realizing the mistake because of a call she got from the client’s widow and a search through the file that led to the panic attack. It all comes out in a frantic rush of words, as if she isn’t used to sharing and wants to get it over with as quickly as possible. When she’s finished, she blows out a breath and shrugs.
“That’s all of it.”
Treading carefully, knowing she abhors showcasing her vulnerability like this, I say, “So how are you going to fix it?”
It’s exactly the right thing to say. I see her strength seep back in. She stands up taller, and her shoulders square. She straightens her sweater and pushes her hair back behind her shoulders, leaving her gorgeous face unframed. Expression determined, she walks me through her plan. I don’t understand all the legal jargon, and there is a lot of talk about court and filing deadlines and something about a pour-over will, whatever that is, but her intelligence and her competence is sexy as fuck. Every single thing about this woman turns me right on.
Right now, I’m regretting my decision to leave for Boulder, because what I really want is to stick as close to Julie as possible, and warm her up to the idea of dating me. I’m not above begging.
But that’s not the only reason I’m regretting it. Thinkingabout Boulder has the wheels turning in my head. I’m supposed to leave tomorrow afternoon and be gone for a few weeks, but the thought of leaving her after what I just witnessed has me uneasy. I don’t like thinking about her being alone. Having to deal with another panic attack by herself. I know from my sister Kyla that once you have one, there’s a strong chance you’ll have more.
“So, you’re going to tell your friends what happened, right? And Ben?”
Her head shoots up from the pile of documents she’s sifting through.
“Why would I do that?”
“You had a panic attack.”
She just shrugs. “I know. I was there. I’m fine now though. You were here. You helped me. I know what I need to do to fix everything. No one else has to know.”
Like hell. The image of her curled into herself on the floor gasping for air is seared into my brain. The idea of that happening again and her having to deal with it alone is more than I can bear. I don’t want her to have to deal with anything alone ever again. But if it’s up to her, that would be her default. Alone, in her office, buried in work, drowning in anxiety, without anyone to tell her that every part of her is magnificent.
I want to show her there’s a different way. That she can work hard and also have fun. That she can be exactly who she is, all the way through. That she can tell her people exactly who she is, and they’ll love her for it. I also want to attach myself to her side and never leave her because I’m already in deep.
Without warning, an idea slams into my head. A wild, hairbrained idea I suddenly need to follow through on more than I need to take my next breath. A wicked grin slides over my face.
