“You are cool,” Augie heard herself say.
He smirked. “I’ll take it.” And with that, he tapped her desk and left.
Micah never said goodbye. When he came by her desk, soon a routine, they’d have some flirty exchange, then he’d disappear. No “See you” or “Have a good day.” Another week in, she called him out on it.
Why do you do that, she typed in the messenger right after he’d left, her heart pounding.
Do what?he’d replied a second later, surely just having gotten back to his desk.
Why don’t you ever say goodbye? Or like, ciao? Have a good one? A common pleasantry? You always disappear.
Well, I’m never really saying bye. We’re only three floors apart.
I guess.
Do you want me to say bye?
I guess.
Does that mean you want me to stop talking to you?
Augie’s hands hovered over the keyboard.No.
Okay, then.
Augie had laughed silently, secretively, as she started to sweat.BYE, she wrote, before signing off.
Things took on a new tone from there. Even as Augie worked hard, conducting focus groups and compiling insights, preparing briefs for the creative team, Micah was always on her mind. It was fun to have a crush—someone to think about while running or waiting in line. Even if it couldn’t go anywhere, it thrilled her to think of him.
He was often in her physical space, too. At lunches or agency meetings, he’d catch her eye, engage in light conversation. Their interactions always felt more surface level when around others, which made Augie wonder if he was suppressing feelings, too. But Micah was one of the top directors. He met with the president and VP every Wednesday. There was no way he’d be interested in a clueless twenty-two-year-old.
But then, the last Friday in January, a snowstorm hit the city. It had come out of nowhere. Augie had always thought New Yorkers were accustomed to snow, but with only a few inches, the city seemed to shut down. People were freaking out about getting home. It made Augie feel proud. Having grown up in Maine and Minnesota, a few inches of snow didn’t scare her. When Micah messaged and asked if she needed a ride to her apartment, explaining the streets and subways would be crazy, she joked that this was nothing.
Back in my day, she typed,I walked 3 miles in a snowstorm. But really, I’m okay. Thanks.
But you live on 72nd and Amsterdam? Right?
Yes.
I’m heading to Columbia anyway. Televised panel somehow not canceled. The 123 is fucked. I already ordered a car. I’ll drop you.
Augie said okay.
When they finally got to her street, the snow was fully coming down. The driver got out to clean the wipers, and for a moment, it was only the two of them inside the car. The snow covering the windows made them feel even more alone, drawn curtains of white, the back seat now shadowed. Micah wore a blue sweater that matched both their eyes. As Augie gathered her bags and scooted to the door, they both hesitated.
“Hey,” he said as she reached for the handle. “You’re doing a reallygood job, you know. Cheryl told me. They’re all really impressed. Keep it up and we’ll get you a new title in no time. I’ll keep an eye out for you, put in a good word.”
Augie felt warmed by the flattery. She missed the recognition that came with school grades and test scores, those routine validations.
“Thanks.” She nodded into her shoulder. “I appreciate that.”
“You’re so formal.” He sighed and adjusted his knees.
“I’m being professional,” she teased.
He paused, staring at her as the snow fell faster. “You make me bad at that.”
“What?”
