Yes

The phone buzzed.

Just once.

Emily didn’t snatch it up. She let it sit there beside the Q3 Budget file she wasn’t working on and the coffee she wasn’t drinking, heartbeat steady but elevated just enough to feel it in her wrists.

She turned the screen over with one finger.

Will:
Yeah. I did. They were… beautiful. You looked amazing. Still do. Thank you again for trusting me with them.

She read it once.

Then again.

No emoji. No slang. No wink or wank joke. Just plain words, arranged with almost maddening care.

Her first instinct was to laugh—softly, without sound.

It was sweet.

Embarrassingly sweet.

He was thanking her for nudes like she'd sent him a recipe. Like she’d mailed him a handwritten card and he was writing a proper response for his grandmother.

And yet...

Her face felt warm.

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Something cocky? Something crude? Or worse—something clinical and indifferent?

But no. Will’s message read like someone who really had been looking at those photos. Not just at her body, but at her. Carefully. Like it meant something. Like it still did.

The compliment wasn’t bold. It was almost hesitant. Like he didn’t want to overstep.

But that just made it worse.

Better.

Both.

She stared at the message, thumb hovering over the screen like she might write something back. But what?

"You're welcome"?
Too dry.

"I'm glad"?
Too eager.

"You can delete them if you want"?
Why would she say that?

Instead, she let the screen fade to black again.

Set the phone down.

Sat in her office with the muted hum of overhead lights and the echo of a young man telling her she still looked amazing—not just now, but still—and tried not to think about the fact that she was smiling.