I shut the screen off and stared at my reflection in the black glass.
Apparently, I was the kind of woman who hid in stairwells to avoid her life.
The hum came next.
Soft. Familiar.
I didn’t even have to look up to know it was him.
He appeared at the landing above me, mailbag slung over his shoulder, pausing like he wasn’t sure whether to interrupt.
“Didn’t mean to crash your… whatever this is,” he said, voice low, hesitant.
“It’s called hiding,” I muttered, brushing a thumb across my screen. “Highly effective. Ten out of ten, would recommend.”
He took a slow step down, his shoes quiet against the concrete. “From co-workers or the world in general?”
“Both,” I said. “But mostly people who ask too many questions.”
He smiled softly. “Noted.”
For a second, I thought he’d keep going, but he didn’t. He sat a few steps below me, elbows resting on his knees, keeping just enough distance to make it feel safe.
He nodded toward the phone in my hand. “You look like you’re about to throw that thing down the stairwell.”
“I’ve considered it.”
“Bad news?”
“Worse. Dating apps.”
He winced theatrically. “Ah. The seventh circle of modern hell.”
That made me laugh quiet, unexpected.
“Exactly.” I unlocked the screen again, scrolling through another profile. “Look at this guy. He’s holding a fish. Why are there always fish?”
“Proof of survival, maybe.”
“Proof of ego, definitely.”
He chuckled. “What’s his bio say?”
I read aloud, “‘Looking for a woman who can cook, clean, and keep up in bed.’”
He made a low whistle. “Ambitious.”
“Delusional,” I corrected.
His eyes flicked to me, glinting with that quiet mischief. “So, this is what you do on your breaks? Swipe through the male species and judge their fishing trophies?”
I shot him a look. “Not exactly.”
His eyebrow quirked up, playful. “Oh? Doing research?”
Heat climbed my throat before I could stop it. “Actually, yeah. I am.”
That got his attention. “You’re kidding.”
