Page 3 of For You & No One Else (Say Everything 3)

She headed past the closed coffee bar to the elevator and punched the button for the third floor. The hallway was quiet when she stepped out of the elevator, and her lace-up boots moved silently across the gray carpet as she made her way to her office. But when she got closer to her door, she heard the distinct chatter of an old-schoolclickety-clackkeyboard. Her eyebrows lifted.

So her too-cool-for-the-room neighbor was working on Christmas, too? It had to be him because she didn’t know anyone else on this floor with such a loud keyboard. She’d only heard it a few times before because Beckham Carter almost always kept his door shut tight. She slowed her step as she neared his office. The door was wide open.

She peeked in, planning to greet him since he’d see her pass his door, but he didn’t turn his head. His attention was laser-focused on his screen, a pair of noise-canceling headphones over his ears, and his fingers were flying across the obnoxiously loud keyboard.Ticka, ticka, ticka.

She let herself take in the view for a moment, her curiosity about her neighbor getting the best of her. If Beckham was stopping in to work before heading to some holiday celebration, it must be a casual get-together. Or maybe he didn’t celebrate Christmas. Either way, he was dressed for comfort in a pair of well-worn jeans and a soft-looking green T-shirt with some graphic on the front she couldn’t fully see. His arms were inked with artwork and scrawling words she’d never gotten to inspect very closely, and his blond hair, which had a natural loose wave to it and darker roots, was tousled more than normal, like he’d simply rolled out of bed and ran his fingers through it. A little rush of heat went through her at that visual, quickly followed by aHell no, don’t have that thought.

She didn’t need to be getting any bedroom-related thoughts about her work neighbor—her definitely-too-young-for-her work neighbor. She’d tried to be friendly and welcoming to Beckham when he’d first moved into the office next door, but she’d quickly learned that he had no interest in the neighborly aspects of WorkAround. At least, not with her. She’d seen him interacting with a few of the techie guys from the fourth floor, so she knew he was more than capable of socializing, but his barely there politeness toward her had been all the signal she needed. She wasn’t in his “crowd” or “crew,” so wasn’t worth talking to. Whatever.

Sometimes WorkAround reminded her of middle school with its cliques, and she had no interest in repeating that dynamic—or reliving her adolescent trauma of not beingpartof one of those cliques. If some group didn’t want to talk to her, then they weren’t people worth knowing. So, since those initial interactions, she and Beckham had kept it to greetings like “hey” and “morning” in the hallway and left it at that. She decided to leave him be right now since he hadn’t noticed her, but before she could move out of his doorway, he turned his head.

A startled look crossed his face before he smoothed his expression, a slight frown touching his lips. She lifted a hand in silent greeting.

He pulled off his headphones, looping them around his neck. “Uh, hey.”

“Hey,” she said, leaning against the doorjamb, trying to look like she’d just casually happened by instead of having stood there for long enough to qualify as creepy. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know I was next door. With the building empty and all, I didn’t want you to think there was an intruder out here or something.”

“Oh, right,” he said, rubbing a hand along his darker stubble, still frowning. “Thanks. I didn’t expect anyone else to be here today.”

“No problem.” She cleared her throat and made an awkward gesture with her thumb. “Well, I better—”

“People have therapy appointments on Christmas Day?” he asked, brows knitting. “Don’t you get to set your own hours?”

His question surprised her. Was Mr. Door Always Shut actually going to make small talk? She shrugged. “In theory, I could have emergency appointments, but that’s not why I’m here. I have other stuff to work on. Notes. My YouTube stuff.”

He cocked his head, a barely there move. “YouTube stuff?”

“I have a mental-health wellness channel,” she explained. “I cover different topics, host thirty-day challenges, give tips and tricks for relationships, that kind of thing. It’s a way for people to get to know me before choosing me as their therapist—or just to learn things if they’re not looking for therapy.”

His mouth flattened into a line. “Got it. The influencer thing. We seem to have a lot of those here.”

Her lips pursed, her hackles rising and her original suspicions about Beckham having a cooler-than-thou attitude returning. “Well, I don’t know if I’d necessarily call myself an influencer at this point. But wow, clearly you have opinions about that job. Some influencer take your favorite spot at the coffee bar or something?”

She expected him to snipe back, but instead he scrubbed a hand through his hair, his blue-green eyes looking tired all of a sudden, and let out a breath. “Sorry. To be honest, I don’tnothave opinions about that job, but you’re not here for my op-ed on influencer culture. I didn’t mean it personally. I know you’re a therapist. I think I’ve been staring at my screen too long and need more coffee. I’m not fit for other humans yet.”

“Don’t have Christmas plans?” she asked, regretting it as soon as she let the question slip past her lips. If she asked him that, it’d be fair game for him to ask her the same question. And she didn’t want to answer.

He turned his chair fully toward her, the gears squeaking, and hooked an ankle over his knee. Only then did she see that his T-shirt had a vintage-looking Grinch Stole Christmas graphic. “My parents went on a cruise, but I didn’t want to use up my vacation time.”

Right. Of course. He had family but had chosen not to go. Lucky him, to have that choice. “Oh.”

“You?” He asked, glancing downward and taking in her outfit.

She’d thrown on a pair of black skinny jeans and a cranberry-red sweater. Conceivably, she looked like she could be going somewhere festive. She opened her mouth to say,I have plans later. But something else came out instead.

“Nope. My parents died in a car crash two years ago so my plan today is to do anything that doesn’t remind me of the fact that I have nowhere to be on Christmas.”

His jaw slackened.

Oh God.She pressed her fingers to her lips, shocked by what had come out.

A wince of regret crossed his face. “Shit, Eliza, I didn’t mean to—”

She shook her head, pressing harder against her lips, forcing the welling emotions back down. “No, you don’t have to… I don’t know where that came from.” She laughed awkwardly, painfully. “Wow. TMI. Sorry about that. I think my lack of sleep has turned off my what’s-appropriate-for-casual-conversation filter.”

His gaze searched hers, frown deep. All traces of that smug attitude he wore so often were gone, replaced by something quiet and…sad. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

The simple words and the way he was looking at her were like a one-two punch right to the stomach, busting through the veneer she’d put on when she left the house. She was half a second away from the dam bursting, all the feelings she’d been fighting all morning swelling up like an overfull balloon. She. Would. Not. Cry. Not in front of a near stranger. Not like this.

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