At two I make his coffee because apparently that’s still my job. I walk into his office and cross to his desk and set the cup down.
He reaches for it at the same time and our fingers brush.
That spark shoots up my arm like an electric shock and I gasp and jerk my hand back, and the cup wobbles between us for a second before he catches it.
We’re both frozen, staring at each other, and I can see his chest rising and falling too fast and his pupils are blown wide and I wonder if he felt it too or if it’s just me losing my mind.
“Thank you.” His voice comes out rough like he hasn’t used it in hours.
I leave without saying anything because I don’t trust what might come out of my mouth, and I go back to my desk and sit there with my hand tingling and my heart racing.
The rest of the after
