She chokes on her coffee. We both lose it.
We spend the first twenty minutes talking about everything except work, because I missed her. Outside, Eli swings again. Inside, the kitchen smells like home.
“How’s Lexy, my fill-in, working out for you?” I ask, plating the grits.
Timantha glances over her shoulder like Lexy might materialize out of thin air. “She’s good. I like her.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why does that feel like abut?”
“Because she’s not you,” she says without hesitation. “She’s smart. Capable. And I haven’t had a single blue-screen meltdown since you left. But it’s just…not the same.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it.
There’s also that quiet flicker of pride underneath. Relief, too. That I’m missed. That I still matter. That even while I’ve stepped away, I’m still needed.
Eventually, we circle back to work. I fill her in while flipping bacon. “Someone’s been poking at the servers again, but this time we were ready. The honeytrap worked. Traffic’s routing through China and parts of Africa, but the origin’s still buried. Whoever it is knows how to mask their trail.”
“What were they trying to get into?” she asks.
“Formulas. Algorithms. Financials,” I say. “The good stuff. Nothing was actually breached. But I can tell it wasn’t random. None of these attacks are random.”
She nods, all business now. “Keep digging, please. Quietly.”
“Always,” I say, plating the bacon beside me. “Because the fact that this feels targeted—and that someone knows exactly where to look—doesn’t sit right with me.”
Before we hang up, I pause. “Hey—my mom texted me and said you and your mom stopped by to check on her. Thank you. And thank Ms. Lorraine for me.”
Her expression softens instantly. “Of course. You know we’ve got her.”
I’m grateful but I narrow my gaze suspiciously. “Ms. Lorraine didn’t sneak her any weed brownies, did she?”
She laughs. “Absolutely not!”
“Good,” I say. “Because I’d never hear the end of it if my mom ran off streaking again after that last time!”
We both laugh.
I didn’t realize how much I needed that until now. Knowing my mom’s okay, knowing someone stepped in because they knew I wouldn’t fully relax otherwise. Something eases in my chest.
Outside, the axe goes quiet. And a beat later, Eli fills the doorway—flannel sleeves rolled, hair damp with sweat, heat still clinging to him. His eyes flick to the stove, then back to me.
My Bear is hungry.
“Hey, Tim?” I say.
“Yeah?”
“I gotta go.” I don’t wait for a response. I end the call.
And with his full attention on me, I make it clear what else is on the menu.
I reach for the buttons of my shirt—his shirt—and start undoing them one by one. I don’t rush it. I let him watch. And my bear goes needy.
“Such a greedy Bear,” I tease.
He moves toward me, instinctive, hungry—but I lift a hand and stop him. “Not yet.”
I finish unbuttoning the shirt, letting it fall open to reveal black lace underneath. The pause stretches. The moment lands.
