Harm knocked lightly, stepping into her office. “Hey,” he said. “Working hard?”

“More like hardly working.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Hi.” Nodding at the places beyond the window, she said, “It’s a gorgeous day, isn’t it?”

He skirted the edge of her desk to stand behind her. “I don’t really get to see it in my corner of the world.” He lifted a slat. “It’s a shame we’re stuck in here.”

Her lips quirked upwards slightly. “Sometimes I forget you’re stuck in that horrible little office.” She could feel his presence between her shoulder blades, it whispered down her spine and settled at the small of her back, and she cured the problem of his proximity by easing away from him. Her shoes glided along the tiles as she shifted to give him better access to the window. “I heard we might get thunderstorms tonight.”

“Mm,” he hummed a non-committal answer.

She let her hand fall from the window and angled her head to watch him. “So what brings you down here?” She slid into her chair and folded her hands over her stomach. They didn’t have any cases together, either as co-counsel or opposition. She suspected that the admiral may have talked privately with his successor before leaving.

He leaned against the wall and the window and rested an elbow on her filing cabinet. Through the glass, he could feel the heat from the summer’s sun. He shrugged, sliding his shoulder along the glass surface. “I was in the neighborhood?” he suggested.

She raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh,” she said. She reached for a pen on her desk and twirled it around her fingers. “I’m fine,” she told the pen. “I mostly stayed in bed all weekend.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “It was probably the best thing for you.”

She shook her head a little and hitched a shoulder. “Maybe,” she said, rubbing a hand over her forehead. She hadn’t been resting nearly as much as she had been tucking herself away from the rest of the world. In her apartment, the air was still and quiet. Outside, cars honked and people shouted. The crowds ebbed and flowed, waxing and waning with the pull of the moon. But inside, the noises were muted through the closed windows, the movements were less frenetic. “It’s been a rough month.”

He sat down heavily in a chair. Steepling his fingers, he tilted his head back and exhaled loudly. “Tell me about it.” He hooked an ankle over his knee.

“Oh,” she said quietly, “I think you know the highlights.” Her gaze focused on the calendar she used as a blotter. Her pen traced figure eights around a date, weaving between the two numbers in tight circles. “How’s everything with you?”

Studying the ceiling tiles, he released a deep breath and said, “I think Mattie’s going to move back with her dad.”

Her pen stopped in its path. “What? When did this happen?” She stood up and moved around her desk. “Harm?”

“They started talking again a few weeks ago.” He looked over at her when she laid a hand on his elbow. “She spent the weekend with him.”

Her thumb brushed his forearm, sweeping back and forth over this skin. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He slid his elbow back along the arm of the chair until her hand slipped into his. “Like you said, it’s been a rough few weeks.” His fingers squeezed around hers, then let go and her hand dropped into her lap. He scraped his palm roughly over his face. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

She stared at her hands, weaving her fingers tightly together. “We’re something alright.”

A strand of hair slipped out of her bun and he reached over to tuck it back into place. She glanced up at him and gave him a small smile of thanks.

“You up for dinner tonight?” He let his fingers linger by the shell of her ear, grateful that he’d remembered to shut the door. Grateful that she’d developed a preference for closed blinds. “Or is that a stupid question?”

She snorted softly. “I think I might just go home, actually.” Her hand cuffed his wrist lightly, and she paused as she wished that she could keep it there, keep him there for a little while longer. She eased it away from cheek and said, “You should spend time with Mattie.”

“The two things aren’t mutually exclusive, you know,” he pointed out.

“If you’re sure,” she began, then paused, biting her lip. Her stomach rumbled and she pressed a hand to it, starting to laugh a little at its timing. But the sound caught on her teeth and only slipped past her lips as her thumb brushed against the place where her incision had healed and she glanced at the floor tiles that separated them. She rubbed her stomach absently. Sighing, she let her gaze wander around the office until it rested on the spot where the silly little gifts from Clay once sat. She’d thrown them out, resisting the urge to throw them across the office, when she’d learned that they’d come from his secretary. She shook her head to stop herself from staring at the empty spaces. “No, I’d better not. I’m really tired. Maybe another night?” She tried to bow her mouth into a smile.

“You need to eat,” he reminded her, but he could see she’d already made up her mind. He thought about his apartment and swallowed the sigh that wanted to escape.

“I’ll just pick something up on my way home.” She stood up, plucking at her skirt until the material slid into place. “But thanks for the offer.”

He pushed his body out of the chair and walked slowly to the door. “Mac?” he called softly.

“Hmm?” She sorted through her inbox.

“We can get past all of this.” His hand lingered on the doorknob.