I stand, straighten my sweater, and open the camera app on my phone. Positioning myself in front of the window where towering buildings are framed by snow-capped mountains, I snap a selfie and post it immediately. I don’t even pause to add a filter.
Before closing the app, I notice Nyles has been tagged in a photo with a woman. I smile, wondering if she’s the reason he kept his distance the last time I was at his place. Either way, I’m happy for him. Happy that maybe he’s found someone that fits better into his world.
With that, I head out to join the team.
When it’s time to break for lunch, everyone piles into cars, ride-sharing their way to Tiny’s—the same place Eli took me the night we first crashed into each other.
Tiny’s smells like comfort and cornbread. Sweet potatoes, roasted garlic, and the kind of food that feels like it could fix something in your soul just by breathing it in.
Eli’s hand rests at the small of my back as we’re guided past the front dining area. Not possessive. Just there.
Like I’m his.
It feels good.
One week.
We’re led to the back of the restaurant where a long table stretches across the room like Thanksgiving. The team is already gathered, family-style, throwing jokes back and forth, leaning into each other like this isn’t just lunch but tradition.
As soon as they spot us, a few voices call out.
“There he is!”
“About damn time, boss.”
“Hey, Max the Consultant!”
“Hey, Max the Consultant!” again—because apparently that’s my name now.
I laugh and lift my voice just enough to carry. “Hello. Again, everyone.”
Drinks arrive. Orders are called out. Plates start moving hand to hand down the table. It doesn’t feel like a restaurant at all. It feels like a family gathering. And somewhere between the easy chatter and the clatter of silverware, it hits me.
I feel…at home here.
The effect of Tiny’s, I guess.
“So,” I say, “what does everyone here actually do? What’s your favorite part of working here? What makes this place special?”
The table goes quiet.
Then smiles start spreading.
And one by one, they start to answer.
Dan, the design lead, chimes in first. “Eli lets us build things that matter. Stuff that actually changes lives. He doesn’t just talk sustainability, he lives it.”
“He once stayed overnight to help pour a foundation for a construction job with one of our contractors,” another team member adds. “Freezing cold. Didn’t leave until it was done.”
I glance at Eli. His face is neutral, as always, but there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes. Embarrassment, maybe. Or pride he doesn’t know how to show.
“He cares,” Lara says quietly from across the table. “Not just about the projects, but about people. And he protects this team. Fiercely.”
My chest aches.
Why the hell does this man have to be so... layered? So good, even when he’s trying not to be. Here I am, sitting next to this infuriatingly brooding, morally anchored man who’s supposed to be temporary. He’s made it clear, and I’ve agreed to it: this ends when the job ends. When the week ends. But every layer he peels back for me makes that harder to fathom.
After nearly forty minutes of chatting, laughing, and lowkey falling in love with this team—and him—I excuse myself and head to the restroom.
