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I laugh. “So coffee has been lying to me?”

“It exaggerates its qualifications.”

Another laugh escapes before the conversation settles again. “You don’t talk about Celeste very often.”

“I don’t.”

I search his face. “Because it still hurts?”

He nods.

“What was she like?”

His expression softens. “She made every person she met feel like they’d just become the most interesting part of her day.”

I smile. “I would’ve liked her.”

“I think she’d have adopted you before dessert.”

I laugh. “That sounds dangerous.”

He shakes his head, smiling to himself. “She also stole food off my plate whenever she thought I wasn’t paying attention.”

“So that’s where your daughters learned it.”

“And Sprout.”

This time his laugh comes easily, easing years from his face, and I catch myself smiling simply because he is.

“I used to hate hearing people call me strong.”

“Why?”

“Because it wasn’t a choice.” His eyes stay on the rain. “The girls still woke up hungry. Bills still arrived. Life doesn’t pause because your heart’s broken.” He finally looks back at me. “You just learn to carry grief while everyone assumes you’re fine.”

The words settle between us while rain rattles against the windows, and I catch myself smiling before I can stop it. “I like talking to you.”

He studies me for a beat, then smiles in that restrained way of his. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“You were?”

“I’ve been looking for excuses to keep these conversations going.”

A laugh escapes me. “I expected better from the CEO.”

“I save my impressive material for board meetings.”

Thunder rolls across the city, and a flash of lightning turns the rain silver beyond the windows.

The crack that follows makes me flinch.

“You okay?” he asks, already leaning forward.

“I’ve never made friends with thunderstorms.”

“I suspected as much.”

Lightning tears across the skyline, and the lights flicker once before flashing again and plunging the conference room into darkness.