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Emma suddenly understood the reason she’d been nervous about the promotion. It didn’t have anything to do with the promotion itself.

The reason was sitting across the table from her.

The reason was the way Jo was smiling at her, gentle and almost shy, like Emma was a wild animal that could spook. The reason was the way Jo worried about her, took care of her. The reason was Jo’s voice every morning, thanking Emma for her coffee. Emma always knew how the day would go, based on how Jo said thanks. She could tell when Jo hadn’t gotten enough sleep, or when she was too busy and already thinking about tasks she had to accomplish that day. Emma liked starting her day with Jo. Emma liked spending her day with Jo. The idea of moving on from that was terrifying.

The amorphous dread Emma had whenever she thought about her new job was coming into shape. It wasn’t about her job. She liked her job—loved her job, even. But associate producer would be better, in the long run, she knew that. The thought of not getting to see Jo every day, though—her stomach clenched.

Her chest felt tight. Jo caught her hand across the table, squeezing quickly before letting go.

“Are you okay?”

Emma nodded. “Sure, yeah,” she said. “I’m just going to—I’m going to run to the restroom real quick.”

She consciously moved slowly toward the bathroom, but it still felt like she was fleeing. Her heart pounded in her chest.

It wasn’t a one-person bathroom, so it wasn’t necessarily private. There was no one in the stalls, but Emma couldn’t lock the door like she wanted to. She splashed some water on her cheeks.

She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror.

When people first thought Jo and Emma were together, Emmatold herself Jo was probably straight. When she found out Jo knew Avery and had lied to her about it, Emma told herself she was just upset because their relationship was different than she thought it was. When she almost kissed Jo, Emma told herself she got caught up in the moment. When Jo turned her down afterward—not directly, not explicitly, but enough—Emma told herself it didn’t matter. Now here Emma was, her heart racing, terrified at the thought of not seeing Jo every day. Everything she told herself, and now she was hiding in the bathroom while her gay, single boss waited for her at their table. Her gay, single boss who wouldn’t be her boss soon.

This was their last business trip together. There was only a week of work left before Emma wouldn’t be Jo’s assistant anymore. What happened then?

Emma took a deep breath, put some more water on her face. She didn’t know how long she’d been in the bathroom.

When she returned to the table, Jo looked at her with such concern shehadto be interested in her. She had to, right?

“Are you okay?” Jo asked. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” Emma said.

“I’m sure Marlita will do fine,” Jo said. “She won’t be as good as you, but that’s a given.”

Emma stared at Jo.

“You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had, Emma,” Jo said quietly. “Before that you were the best props PA Aly had ever had. I hope, at some point in the future, you’ll be the best director I’ve ever worked with.”

“Boss,” Emma said, awed. The response was reflexive, but suddenly the word felt like a term of endearment.

Jo never broke eye contact. Emma felt like she should. She didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t just Jo’s belief in her—Jo wantedto work with her whenever she became a director. That would be years from now, could be decades. Jo still imagined they’d be in each other’s lives. Emma didn’t look away.

“All finished here?” The waiter appeared then, shocking them both out of their reverie.

Emma blinked a few times. She looked at the waiter, who didn’t seem to have noticed he’d interrupted anything.

“I am,” Jo said. “Emma?”

“Yeah,” Emma said. “Yes. All finished. Thank you.”

They didn’t speak while Jo paid the check. Out on the sidewalk in the cold, they waited for their car to arrive. Emma’s blood thrummed. Jo stood close enough to touch. Emma watched her own breath fog in the air. She could see Jo looking at her out of the corner of her eye. She told herself she shouldn’t look back—whether because it would give away her feelings or lead to something happening, she wasn’t sure. She looked back anyway.

She looked back, and as soon as she made eye contact, Jo stepped closer, stepped into her space. She was right in front of her, reaching her hands up toward Emma, and Emma couldn’t breathe as they curled around her scarf. They didn’t pull her in, though, just tugged on the scarf itself, adjusted it tighter around Emma’s neck.

“Emma,” Jo said, her voice like she was fighting to get the word out, and Emma wanted to say yes. Whatever came next,yes. But then Jo swallowed, blinked, and she sounded less strangled when she said, “Do you have your inhaler?”

Emma nodded. Jo’s hands were still on her scarf.

“Yeah, boss,” Emma said. “Don’t worry.”