The suite was nicer than expected—sitting area, floor-to-ceiling windows showing snow falling outside, well-stocked minibar.

“Conference speakers get this?” Deepak looked around. “I’m in the wrong profession.”

She smiled, made two drinks, handed him one, sat across from him. Safe distance.

He raised his glass. “To delayed connections.”

“To unexpected conversations.”

The whiskey burned warm.

“So,” Deepak said, settling into the couch, “do you actually save lives or is that just TV drama?”

She smiled. “Sometimes. Not as dramatically as TV.”

“Disappointing. I was hoping for defibrillator scenes and intense music. Oh, and CPR.”

She smiled again, “You make everything sound light.”

“Because it is. We’re humans on a floating rock. Might as well laugh.”

She studied him. “You don’t take anything seriously, do you?”

“I take plenty seriously. Just not myself.” He looked at her. “You though—you take everything seriously.”

The observation stung because it was true. She leaned forward to refill their glasses, the robe fell away, just enough. She felt his sharp intake of breath a half-second before she straightened and saw his eyes find their way back to hers. She said nothing. But something small and warm moved through her chest that she filed away without examining.

Deepak set down his glass. “You know what I noticed about you?”

“What?”

“You smile like you’re asking permission first.”

She stopped, drink halfway to her lips. “What?”

“No offense, but it feels like you’re checking if it’s allowed. Even now.”

“That’s not—” She paused. “Is that really how I seem?”

“You seem like someone who’s forgotten she’s allowed to want things.”

The words cut deep. Too close.

At some point she shifted in her chair and crossed her legs. His eyes moved — just for a beat, down and back up — and then returned to her face as if they’d never left. She pretended not to notice, but uncrossed her legs, not bothering to check how decent or otherwise the hotel robe left her. Heat was pooling between her legs. His eyes were no longer on her face.

She set down her glass, stretched trying to think, to fight herself, to not get impulsive.

“It’s late. I should probably head out,” he said taking it as a hint, looking at his watch. “Thanks for the drink.”

He moved to the door. Hand on the handle.

“What if I’ve forgotten how?” she asked.

He stopped. Turned. She had got out of the chair and was standing by the bed. “Forgotten how to what?”

She stared at the carpeted floor. “To want things. Without permission. Without justification.”

He let go of the door handle and turned to face her.

“Then remember.” His voice was gentle as he leaned against the closed door. “Right now. What do you want?”

Long pause. She finally looked at him. “Something I shouldn’t,” she whispered.

“Says who?”

The question hung between them.

“Stay,” she said.

“Yeah?”

She looked directly at him, her hands went to the belt holding her robe and sanity together. “Yeah.”

Continue the story in Delayed Connection.

All images are AI generated and do not depict any real person.