Derrick's arm hooked around my shoulder the second I stepped into the office.

"Way to arrive in style, man."

I blinked, halfway through a yawn. "Uh?"

He grinned, steering me forward like he owned the hallway. "The Superleggera. You planning to make the rest of us look broke?"

"Oh." I rubbed the back of my neck, pretending to play dumb. "That."

"That?" Derrick laughed. "Who was that, your big brother? Or a rich friend or something?"

I smirked. "Or something."

He gave me a look. "Right. 'Or something.' I see how it is."

I didn't reply, just kept walking with him. The less I said, the better.

By the time we got to our desks, the office had begun to settle into its usual rhythm—the hum of printers, muted conversations, the low whir of the air conditioner. Tasha walked in a minute later, heels soft against the tiles. A few coworkers greeted her, their voices polite and eager in that early-morning, let's-get-on-her-good-side tone.

She smiled faintly at them, then crossed to her desk. For a moment, everything seemed like any other morning. Then—

"Kai," she said softly, glancing up from her chair. "A minute?"

Derrick gave me a look with a smirk on his face said good luck buddy. He opened his mouth to say something .

I groaned under my breath. "No."

He chuckled. "Sure, sure."

I pushed out of my chair and walked toward her desk. "You called."

Tasha nodded, her expression calm and soft, not cold. "Did you…" she hesitated, eyes flicking briefly to her monitor, then back to me. "Did you see the text I sent last night?"

For a moment, my chest tightened. My eyes widened—just a fraction—but before I could even open my mouth, she filled the silence.

"You were probably asleep already," she said quickly, with a small, careful smile.

I thought about lying. For a second, it seemed like the easier route. Just tell her I'd fallen asleep early, pretend I hadn't seen it. But the thought of what that lie could turn into—how it might blur another line that was already fading—made my stomach turn.

So I went with the truth. "I did see it."

"Oh." Her lips parted slightly. A flicker of surprise. Then she nodded. "Okay."

I wanted to say something more—to clear the air, to make sure this didn't spiral—but before I could, she straightened in her seat and said softly, "We'll talk more at lunch."

Her smile this time wasn't the practiced one she used in meetings. It was small. Almost hesitant. And underneath it was something that looked like hurt—quiet and hidden, but unmistakable.

I nodded and turned back to my desk.

Derrick didn't even wait until I sat down before saying, "Damn, you're in a sticky spot, aren't ya?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

He leaned back in his chair, spinning his pen between his fingers. "Come on, man. It's obvious Tasha likes you."

I sighed. "Derrick—"

He cut me off, grinning. "Anyone with eyes can tell. Don't give me that look. She's different around you. More… careful."

I looked away, focusing on the screen in front of me. "Come on, she doesn't—"

"Sure," he said easily, like he was humoring a kid caught lying. "I'll let you believe what you wanna."

And just like that, he turned back to his monitor, humming softly as he typed, leaving me alone with the silence in my head.

I stared at the document on my screen, but my focus was gone. My thoughts were looping, circling back to the same truth I kept trying to bury.

He was right.

Derrick was right.

I wasn't blind. I'd seen it for weeks now—the way Tasha lingered a little longer when we talked, how her tone softened when she said my name, how her eyes followed me in meetings even when she pretended they didn't.

And maybe if I were someone else, I would've enjoyed the attention. But the truth was, it scared the hell out of me.

Because I knew exactly what it could turn into if I wasn't careful.

That's why I'd called Trent over that afternoon—needed someone else there, a buffer to make sure I didn't do something stupid, or worse, say something that could be misunderstood. That's why I kept my replies short, kept my distance, kept reminding myself where my heart was and who it belonged to.

Still, I could feel it—the tension, the quiet pull between what was said and what wasn't.

And now she wanted to talk. At lunch.

I sighed, sinking deeper into my chair. I didn't know what I'd say when that time came.

All I knew was that I couldn't let this go any further. Not with her. Not with anyone.

Because I already had someone waiting for me at home—someone who looked at me like I was her world, who crossed oceans just to surprise me, who smiled even when she was hurt.

And if I lost that because I didn't know how to handle this right…

No. I couldn't even think about it.

I exhaled slowly, dragging my focus back to the spreadsheet in front of me. But the numbers blurred. My cursor blinked in the same spot for minutes.

Maybe it was easier to pretend I didn't see it—the glances, the meaning behind her tone, the unspoken what ifs.

But the truth had a way of finding you, no matter how hard you tried to avoid it.

And deep down, I already knew—

Sooner or later, I was going to have to stop pretending.

---

Lunch came fast. Too fast.

It was like the universe had decided to skip the clock ahead just to mess with me—to get whatever was about to happen over with. The seconds between eleven and twelve vanished in a blink, and before I knew it, the office was quieting down, chairs scraping, footsteps echoing toward the cafeteria.

I sat there, staring at my monitor, pretending to still be focused. My hand hovered over the mouse, but the document on the screen hadn't changed in twenty minutes.

If I was going to reject her—if that was really what this lunch was about—then I had to do it right. Respectfully. She was still my team leader. And even if the situation was getting… complicated, she didn't deserve to be humiliated.

So, I rehearsed the lines in my head. Tasha, you're an amazing person, but—

No, too formal. Tasha, I respect you a lot, but—

Still terrible. I sounded like I was writing an HR-approved breakup memo.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temple.

You're overthinking this, Kai. Just be honest. It's not that deep.

Except it was.

Because honesty, in this case, meant acknowledging something I'd been trying not to admit for weeks.

The tension.

The looks.

The little things that built up like whispers I pretended not to hear.

And now, lunch was here.

The last of the chatter faded as people left the room. Derrick threw me a parting look before leaving.

When the door finally closed behind the last person, silence settled in. Heavy. Thick.

Then Tasha stood from her desk.

My heart started beating faster, even though I told it not to. I straightened in my chair, ready to stand too—but froze when I saw what was in her hands.

A food flask.

Not just any flask—the kind people bring from home, still warm, smelling faintly like something homemade.

She walked up to my desk quietly, the sound of her heels sharp in the empty office. Then she stopped right beside me, placed the flask down gently, and pulled one of the spare chairs closer. The legs of the chair scraped lightly against the floor before she sat, turning slightly so she was facing me.

"I…" she started softly, fingers brushing the lid of the flask. "I cooked a little something this morning."

For a moment, I didn't even breathe.

Because—what do you say to that?

Every possible response in my head sounded wrong. A thank you would sound too accepting. A you didn't have to would sound ungrateful. And saying nothing at all… well, that's what I ended up doing anyway.

She didn't look away though. Not once. Her eyes stayed on me—steady, searching, like she was hanging entirely on whatever my next word would be.

And maybe she was.

My throat felt tight. I opened my mouth—

But the words never came.

Because at that exact moment, the door opened.

> "Babe?"

I froze.

That voice—soft, familiar, every syllable instantly grounding and terrifying at the same time.

I turned in my chair.

Val.

Standing in the doorway. Holding a food flask of her own.

For a second, my brain refused to process what I was seeing. Like some cosmic prank had gone too far.

She looked as composed as ever—light sweater, her hair pulled back neatly—but the look in her eyes when they flicked between me and Tasha told a completely different story.

My mouth went dry.

I could practically hear the universe laughing.

Because of all the times—of all the moments she could've shown up—why did it have to be now?

Tasha stiffened beside me. Her gaze darted between us once before dropping to the flask she'd brought, her fingers curling around the lid as if she could undo the moment by holding onto it.

And me?

I sat there, completely frozen, halfway turned in my chair, staring between the two women like an idiot caught between parallel worlds.

Because in that moment, one single, stupid thought played on loop in my head—

Of course. Of course this would happen. The universe wasn't against me. It was entertained.

And that was how lunch began.

—or ended, depending on how you looked at it.

---

To be continued...

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