She smirks and nods.
Derek opens the door himself when I knock.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
He steps aside, letting me in, and closes the door behind us. The room feels smaller than usual. Or maybe quieter.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he says. “I should have said that sooner.”
“You just did.”
His mouth curves briefly, then stills.
“I didn’t handle things well,” he says. “After.”
After he let me into his home. After he took care of me. After he drove me home.
I wait.
“I told myself I was being careful,” he continues. “Giving you space. But I think I was mostly avoiding my own discomfort.”
That’s not what I expected.
“I’m not asking you to make this easy,” he says. “But I would like to do it better.”
“Do what?” I ask.
“See you,” he says. “Outside of work.”
He pauses. “Dinner. Tonight.”
I study him. He looks tired. Not worn down—just… quiet in a way that feels deliberate.
“Yes,” I say. “Dinner.”
Something eases in his shoulders, just slightly.
When I leave his office, the day rushes back in.
But it doesn’t feel quite as loud.
I’m finishing up an email when my phone rings.
“Hi,” I say.
“I’m heading out now,” Derek says. “I’m driving.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be in the black Aston,” he adds. “I’ll pull up on the east side. It’s easier there.”
The specificity makes me pause. “You sound very prepared.”
A hint of a smile comes through the line. “I like removing variables.”
“I’ll look for you,” I say.
