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Though my first response is to say something snarky about showing her energized, I find myself considering her words. Maybe Iamenergized.

Byfrustration. I’m energized by frustration, mostly aimed toward one grumpy man who has toppled over the comfortable chaos of my life. Although the frustration has morphed now into a whole new set of complicated emotions.

Interest with a side of empathy. Hard to be angry with the man for his cold demeanor now that I know his background. Attraction, which shows no sign of slowing.

And yes—still frustration.

He might have given me the kitchen space without cost, but with the rent increasing, it’s a moot point. So, yeah, I’m still mad at him.

And I think about kissing him more than I should.

Such a strong mix of opposing reactions can’t be healthy, right? I almost ask Judith but then remember I don’t like talking to her.

“How are you feeling about the new job?”

“It’s a job. I need the money.”

“Your new boss came up quite a bit.” Judith stares with what I like to call her laser eyes. They tell me she knows I’m not giving her the full story.

I stare back, which tells her I don’twantto give her the full story.

For a moment, the room is quiet, aside from my fingers drumming on the arm of the chair. “I think I’m good at it. The job.” Might as well go back to her first question, which is easier to answer.

Archer seems very appreciative, which he expresses by way of frowning a little less. He even gave me a clippedthank youat the end of my second day. I also notice he’s binge-eating fewer of hisdisgusting mints. I’m not sure I should get all the credit, but I’m happy to take it.

“You seemed to have mixed but strong feelings about your boss when you talked about him.”

That’s one way to put it.

I wish I didn’t. I’d prefer to have mixed-but-meh feelings about him. But even Judith’s question has my heart picking up its pace.

Slow down there, little buddy. No need to get excited about that guy. I’m too young for you to get overworked.

“You’re frowning,” Judith says.

“My new boss has that effect.”

“But a moment before, you were smiling.”

“Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?”

“I’m simply observing. Switching gears, how are you doing with your steps?” Judith asks.

My steps. I’d rather talk about Archer for the remaining time.

“I still haven’t really made much progress on that front.”

“Have you tried?” Her question is gentle but prodding. It sinks into me like a blade, leaving a sharp tug where it lodges in my chest. “Remember, we’re not trying for perfection, only progress.”

It sounds so simple when she says it, but the reality is a lot more difficult for me. So is progress.

“Two weeks ago, I drove past the city sign,” I admit, a hot flush of shame creeping up my neck. Because this sounds too small to celebrate. Even if it’s the first time I’ve left the technical city limits in years.

But Judith beams. “Willa—that really is something to celebrate. It’s progress.”

“I made it a mile before I had to turn around.” Even now, remembering has my palms starting to sweat. One minute, I was grinning and whooping and feeling like justmaybeI could dothis. Maybe I was done with the weird mental and physiological block keeping me stuck here.

And then I had to pull over so I could dry heave on the shoulder of the road.