He opens his eyes, blinks at me like he forgot where he was.
I pull out the containers, line them up. "I ordered your favorite. And I got us those brownies from the place on 8th."
His face softens. The exhaustion doesn't disappear, but something else surfaces underneath it.
"I could kiss you."
My pulse kicks. The thought flashes—close the blinds, lock the door, pull him toward me and forget about the presentation deck entirely. His voice is low and tired and the space between us feels charged despite the fluorescent lights.
Then I register the glass walls. The hallway beyond where people are walking past with laptops and coffee cups.
We're in a fishbowl.
I glance at the window, then back at him. "Well, you'll have to contain yourself."
He leans closer anyway, voice dropping. "I wanted to kiss you when we first came into this war room this morning. But..."
I meet his eyes. "I know."
We're sitting too close for colleagues. Not close enough for what I actually want.
"I want to kiss you too." I pause, then add with a tired smile, "But I'm afraid I'd fall asleep."
He sits back, mock offense written all over his face. "Excuse me?"
I laugh. "Not because of your kissing ability. I'm just so tired."
He reaches over, brushes his thumb across the back of my hand. Just once. "I know, babe. Me too."
We hold eye contact for a beat. Then I open the takeout containers, pass him his pad thai.
"Two more weeks," I say. "Then we can sleep. And kiss. In that order."
"Deal."
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I'm chewing noodles when Tom's laptop chimes.
He glances at the screen. His expression shifts.
I swallow. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Got an offer."
I set my fork down, wipe my fingers on a napkin. "For what?"
"Photo essay commission. South America. Magazine wants me for two and a half weeks." He pauses, scrolls down. "They're offering really good money. Career-defining kind of work."
My stomach tightens.
I pick up my water bottle, unscrew the cap, take a sip.
"When would you leave?"
"Right after the Harbor presentation. They want me there within three days."
I put the water bottle down carefully. My brain does the math automatically—three days after the presentation is Saturday. I'dalready started imagining that Saturday. Sleeping in. Watching a movie. His arm around my shoulders, no laptops in sight. Nowhere to be.
The image cracks.
