One day he notices a new book on my desk—a romance fantasy everyone’s talking about. He says he’s heard of it. Asks if it’s good. Says he might give it a try.
Another day he pokes his head in to tell me about a new piece of Michael Jordan memorabilia he’s thinking of adding to his collection.
He never stays longer than invited.
Never takes a chair unless I offer it.
It’s consistent without being performative.
That’s new.
The days stack quietly.
Derek doesn’t hover. He doesn’t disappear either. When we cross paths, he’s present. Warm. Professional. He shows up when he says he will. Leaves when it makes sense to leave.
He doesn’t reward himself for restraint.
That’s new too.
At some point—I couldn’t tell you exactly when—I realize something without meaning to.
I’m not watching him.
Not tracking tone.
Not bracing for shifts.
Not translating behavior for subtext.
That alone tells me something has changed.
A few weeks later, I’m sitting at a bar with Jamie and Levi after work.
Low lights. Decent wine. The kind of place where no one expects a performance.
“You’re quieter than usual,” Jamie says.
“I’m thinking,” I reply.
Levi lifts his glass. “Dangerous.”
I exhale. “Derek’s been… steady.”
Jamie’s brows lift. “That’s not a word you used to use for him.”
“No,” I admit. “It’s new.”
Levi studies me. “And?”
“And I don’t feel managed,” I say. “Or rushed. Or like I’m carrying his emotions for him.”
Jamie nods slowly. “That’s a big shift.”
“I know.”
Levi leans back. “Do you trust it?”
I don’t answer right away.
