“As early as next week,” he said. “We’ll just need to coordinate the handover. You can loop Harley in, make sure nothing critical falls through before he leaves.”
I considered it for a moment. Not the logistics, those were easy. It was the permission, the quiet acknowledgment that this wasn’t selfish.
“That would help,” I said finally. “I’ll talk to him.”
Thomas nodded. “Good.”
He glanced back at his screen, signaling the end of the meeting, then added, not as my boss, but as someone who’d worked with me long enough to know my patterns.
“Take the two weeks, Elena. Use them properly. We’ll be here when you get back.”
I stood, offering a small, genuine smile. “Thank you.”
As I walked out of his office, the hallway felt the same—keyboards clicking, phones ringing, the steady hum of work continuing uninterrupted. But I felt the shift. Not everything was falling apart. Things were changing, and this time, I was choosing when to step back, and when to return.
I walked back to my desk and saw Harley already there, seated in his chair, sleeves rolled up, eyes fixed on his screen. Our gazes met briefly before he looked away again, a little too quickly.
I hesitated for half a second, then walked over.
“Hey,” I said.
He looked up, clearly not expecting me. “Morning.”
“Do you have lunch plans today?”
His brows drew together slightly, surprise flickering across his face before he masked it. “No. Why?”
“I was thinking we could grab lunch together,” I said, offering a small smile. “I still owe you one, remember?”
He blinked once, processing, then let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “Alright,” he said, nodding.
Then, as if realizing how straightforward that sounded, he added lightly, “Works for me, boss.”
There was something in his tone, casual, teasing, but his expression hadn’t quite caught up yet, like he was still a step behind the moment.
“Good.” I smiled, gave a small nod, and stepped back.
I returned to my desk and opened my laptop again, letting the rhythm of work pull me back in.
By the time the clock crept toward lunch, my shoulders were tight. I stretched, rolled my neck once, then stood and walked over to Harley’s desk.
“Lunch?” I asked.
He looked up, momentarily caught off guard, then pushed his chair back. “Yeah. Sure.”
In the elevator, I glanced at him. “Anything you feel like?”
He shrugged easily. “I’m good with anything.”
“There’s an Italian place two blocks from here,” I said. “Nothing fancy. I’ve been there a few times with Jess.”
He shot me a sideways look, amused. “What’s the occasion?”
I let out a small huff of laughter. “There isn’t one.”
He smiled, but didn’t push.
We walked there mostly in silence, side by side, close enough that our arms almost brushed but never did. Every now and then, I felt his gaze flick toward me. I ignored it.
