Mrs. Kennedy had returned a day before the party, and was happy to inform me about Bob's recovery. I was glad and relieved, but she mentioned I looked extra fresh this morning. Something about a happy glow and sunshine smiles.

Ignoring that comment, when I informed her that I had to wrap up quickly today, she didn't even hesitate before throwing a "Who is she?" my way. I laughed it off, although her crooked smirk was still making me anxious as I sat in my office, fidgeting with the crystal paperweight. I took a moment to ponder over her comment and twirled the crystal on the table.

Was it that obvious?

What is?

I mean maybe I looked fresh because I had a good sleep last night.

Why? Because I had a dream of Maeve.

She was curled by the window of my house, which was very soon, going to be her house. One hand holding a book, the other wrapped around a cup of coffee. Bathed in the golden rays of the sun, she looked like an angel. A stunning, unearthly beauty that didn't belong among humans. Although I didn't remember much of that dream, I did remember waking up to the memory of a vanilla scent.

That scent had successfully engraved itself onto a corner in my lungs, just as I wished it would. But it was nothing compared to the feeling of inhaling it directly off her skin. It was the same difference between smelling a rose-scented perfume, and smelling a real rose directly from the plant.

It was raw, fresh, and sat in your brain for a minute longer than the other.

With a soft sigh, I leaned back on my seat at the surfacing flashbacks in my head. If I just inhaled a little deeply, maybe tried and recalled last night's events, I was pretty sure I would find her scent coming alive around me. It was strong enough to leave an imprint on my mind. Everything about her was so strong and intense, but somewhat innocent too. Her scent, her dark brown eyes, the soft skin, and those lips. The lips that I almost kissed yesterday.

I closed my eyes and willed myself to distract my mind from her. I still had two sessions to sit through and the last thing I wanted was to stray away mentally.

As I had thought, I was a little distracted throughout the sessions, and I kept losing track of my notepad and what sentence I was going to jot down. But my clients didn't seem to notice it as much as I did, so I guessed it wasn't that obvious.

When I finally stepped out of the clinic it was past six o'clock, and I was out of my blazer, and into my car quickly. Never had I been more excited to go home. Maybe it was because I was going home with Maeve. The thought made me smile to myself as I pulled away from the clinic.

Of course, it was not like I was going to live with her. I was just going to help her move in her stuffs.

No touches. No teasing. No almost-kisses.

Perhaps I was happy because that little cozy house was going in right hands, and Maeve didn't have to stay in that shitty hotel anymore. What an awful place to stay. I shuddered to think how she managed to live there for, heaven knows how long.

I didn't even know how fast I got to the hotel, but when I did, I felt all the bubbling excitement puffing out of my body with a single breath. Just as I pulled over before the lobby, I was hardly out of the seat belt when I saw Maeve, standing near the entrance with her luggage. But what made my eyebrows slightly narrow down was the huge shadow looming before her; tall and towering her petite frame. I undid the seat belt, slowly, taking my time with it, without breaking my eyes from the pair standing at the entrance.

Maeve's face was blank, void of any expressions, and as they stood there, side by side, I realized why I always felt her impassiveness reminded me of someone. It reminded me of Michael. I didn't like how the pieces formed together and sat perfectly in my brain.

Maeve had a lot in common with Michael.

I stepped out of the car, and just stood there, one hand on the roof of the car, and the other holding (gripping?) the door open. I had this sudden urge to go there and gather Maeve in my arms (with her luggage) so that I could take her home with me, away from that abomination of a hotel. Away from her Ex.

But I didn't take so much as a step forward, and my body stiffened when Michael started bringing his hands around Maeve to engulf her in his embrace.

Blood gushed hot and hurried through my veins, straight to my fingers which balled into a fist over the roof of the car.

Maeve didn't react. She didn't try to hug him back. Or push him away. Her chin rested on his shoulder, motionless brown orbs staring somewhere far beyond her eyes could see. But there was something I could make out in her eyes. Those eyes which I was starting to read like an open book now. There was something unpleasant and...and-

I didn't remember closing the car door, or walking to the hotel lobby, toward them. I just remembered locking eyes with Maeve when I was close enough to register the panic that struck her face upon seeing me.

"Maeve," I said, my voice struggling to raise any higher than the low, soft tone I was so used to using around her.

She didn't let Michael pull away first, and softly pushed against his chest to create a new distance between them. I didn't know if the panic on her face was because I saw her with Michael, or because Michael had seen her with me.

"Ian," She addressed back to me, her voice breathless. I searched for her eyes, but they were stuck on the ground, refusing to look up.

Look at me, Maeve.

"Ian?" Another voice broke my visual assessment on Maeve and I turned to Michael with a look-which I believe was-of surprise.

"Oh, Michael. Didn't see you there." Unlike our usual bro-hug, we shook hands. I was still somewhat pissed at him about the Chloe matter, and now there was this.

I didn't even know what this was.

Michael shot me a look which said he was confused and relieved all together. I couldn't point out why.

But when I didn't try to elaborate on his silent questions, he quickly regained his stoic composure. "I was just...dropping by." He said and stole a look at Miss. Quiet beside me.

Dropping by to see your ex-wife?

I silently chuckled with a nod, even I didn't know for what. As lame as that excuse was, I was pretty sure that I was not allowed to get angry, because Maeve was literally standing like a statue beside me. Like the beautiful roman sculpture that she was. If she wasn't reacting, I most definitely couldn't. I didn't want to think it was because Michael still affected her. I would rather say it was because he was making her uncomfortable.

"I didn't expect to see you here." Michael said, as his eyes switched down to my hand which was resting on the handle of Maeve's roller luggage, then back to Miss Quiet. "You going somewhere, Maeve?"

I gripped the metal handle tightly.

"Maeve didn't tell you? She's moving out." I glanced at her and she rewarded me with a side eyed look, and a brief nod directed to Michael. That satisfied me. "I'm just helping her with the move." My eyes met Michael's. "You two seemed busy. I hope I didn't disturb anything."

"No, not at all. We were just...talking." Michael nodded, and I felt a tug at my side.

Glancing down, I realized Maeve was gripping the other side of the luggage handle, tugging it forward. Drawing my attention to her face, I locked eyes with her for a brief second, and they silently pleaded me to drop the conversation.

And I was only glad to oblige.

I turned to the man standing before me. "Well, if that's it then I'd like to help Maeve out of here. I gotta run a few errands after this." I lied, without blinking an eye at Michael, who nodded at me, then trailed his gaze toward Maeve. He opened his mouth to say something, but I was hardly thinking over my actions since the last three minutes, not even when I reached forward and placed a hand against Maeve's lower back. Her stiff spine relaxed against my hand, as she looked up at me, this time, holding my stare, as I said, "Let's go."

There was an almost invisible twitch at the corner of her lips, too quick for me to hint the smile, and she nodded.

I didn't wait to gauge Michael's reactions or to see if he was eyeing us suspiciously. I grabbed the two bags along with the roller luggage and stepped aside for Maeve, as she squared her shoulders, before composing her stance and walking past me with a flip of her hair. I followed behind her, and when we reached my car, I carefully loaded her luggage in the trunk. Maeve was standing beside the passenger door, waiting for me, and a little smile bloomed across her face when I rushed to open the door for her.

"Miss. Adams," I gave her a curt nod, unable to suppress my stupid grin.

She chuckled at me. "Thank you, Doc." She slid in ever so gracefully, and I shut the door, before quickly jogging to the driver's side. I didn't want to look at Michael, concerned of what I might see. But nevertheless, I threw a glance outside the window after getting into the car. Michael was nowhere in sight.

A breath eased out of me as I started the engine and stepped on the gas, bidding silent goodbyes to the abomination of a hotel as we pulled away.

For a whole damn minute, there were no words exchanged. Just a comfortable silence slowly spreading in the car. Maeve was facing away from me, toward the window, as usual. I didn't start a conversation, because I was mildly entranced by how beautiful she looked in that moment. Just leaning toward the window, the wind blowing her honey brown waves away from her face, her parted lips, and fluttering eyelids.

She was wearing a beige dress, one of those with sleeves that covered her arms down till her knuckles, and her fingers laid tangled in her lap, not fidgeting.

"You okay?" I asked, unable to help myself.

Maeve smiled, still looking outside the window. "I am now."

That made me smile.

I silently noted that she enjoyed silence, or solitude perhaps. The only thing we had in common.

In my entire life, I had come across very few people who could say they were happy alone, but by the time I got to know them, it was mostly the opposite. Because when we say such things, nine times out of ten, it is a form of self-consolation. Trying to inhabit the behavior by telling yourself that you already possess it.

Maeve was the one out of ten persons who did not say it out loud, rather lived it.

One who was keenly interested in assessing human behavior (like myself) might have said by studying her that she was self-reliant. She was satisfied with life even if there may have been days when she was close to breaking.

And I wanted to know them all.

There was so much that I didn't know about her, and there was so much I would want to tell her about me. But there was no beginning point in my sight. No point of commencement where we could be anything but doctor and patient, could we?