"Principal Hendricks." Shane gave her a polite nod.
"Mr. Briggs. Nice to see you again." She glanced between us. There was something knowing in her expression. "Such a dedicated friend."
Shane just smiled. "Maya's worth being dedicated to."
The room went so quiet I could hear the coffee machine gurgling.
"I should let you get to work." He was already stepping back, headed for the door. "Have a good one."
And then he was gone.
Principal Hendricks caught my eye, her smile softening into something that looked almost like hope. Then she cleared her throat and addressed the room. "Staff meeting in ten, everyone."
The whispers waited until she turned away. Then they erupted like water through a broken dam.
I took my coffee and left before anyone could corner me.
Thursday evening, he showed up with a toolbox.
"Your faucet," he said when I opened the door. "You mentioned it was dripping."
I had mentioned it. Once. A throwaway comment about the landlord who never fixed anything, and the YouTube tutorials I didn't have time to watch.
Shane fixed it in fifteen minutes, packed up his tools, said goodnight, and left.
Friday evening, he asked how Zoe did on her math quiz.
Shane
Zoe ace that math quiz?
Saturday morning, he sent a video: a little kid presenting a research project about why pizza should be a vegetable. Dead serious, full poster board and everything.
Shane
Future student of yours?
I watched it three times.
Every interaction was exactly what he'd promised. Friendship. No pressure. No expectations. No loaded silences or lingering touches or comments that made me wonder what he really wanted.
It was maddening.
I'd spent years learning to read men. Learning to spot the angle, the agenda, the moment their patience ran out and they revealed what they'd wanted all along. David had been charming for two years before he started sighing every time I mentioned being tired. Before the sighs turned to criticism turned to absence turned to "I didn't sign up for this."
But Shane wasn't sighing. Wasn't hinting. Wasn't doing any of the things that would let me categorize him as another man who'd eventually leave.
He was just... there. Present. Consistent in a way that felt foreign, like a language I'd never learned to speak.
I didn't know what to do with that.
Zoe noticed before I did.
"Mom." She was sprawled on the couch, geometry homework spread across the coffee table, when Shane left after tightening the loose cabinet hinges that had been driving me crazy for months. "Why does Shane keep coming over?"
"We're friends."
"Friends." She drew out the word, skeptical. "He fixed our cabinets."
