Hayden sighed but didn’t push further. We walked to the conference room in silence, and I tried to focus on anything other than the fact that I’d see Cate again in a few hours. That I’d have to maintain this careful distance while wanting nothing more than to close it. That I was, quite possibly, the most pathetic man alive.
The weekend had been a relief.
Cate had Saturdays and Sundays off, which meant two full days where I didn’t have to see her. Didn’t have to pretend I wasn’t thinking about her. Didn’t have to maintain the professional façade that was becoming harder to sustain with each passing day.
Megan had asked about her approximately forty-seven times.
“When is Cate coming back?”
“Is Cate going to make us dinner again?”
“Can we invite Cate to the park with us?”
I deflected each question with increasing frustration, which only made Megan more persistent.
By Sunday evening, I was ready for Monday. Ready to see Cate again, even if it meant torturing myself with proximity I couldn’t act on.
Ready to confirm she was real and not some fever dream my sexually frustrated brain had conjured.
Monday morning, I came downstairs earlier than usual.
Cate was already in the kitchen with Megan, helping her with breakfast. The scene was domestic, comfortable—Megan chattering about something while Cate nodded along, scrambling eggs with practiced efficiency.
But something was off.
Cate’s usual chaotic energy was muted. Her responses to Megan were appropriate but subdued. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
She looked tired.
Sad.
Wrong.
“Good morning,” I said from the doorway.
Both of them looked up. Megan’s face lit up immediately. “Dad! Cate’s making cheesy eggs!”
“I can see that.”
Cate’s smile was brief, perfunctory. “Morning, Dr. Lyon. Coffee’s ready if you want some.”
Dr. Lyon. She’d been calling me Gabriel for weeks now, at least when Megan wasn’t around. The return to formality felt like a step backward.
“Thank you,” I said, moving to the coffeemaker. “How was your weekend?”
“Fine.” She turned back to the eggs, her movements mechanical. “Yours?”
“Uneventful.”
Silence.
Megan filled it with a story about a dream she’d had involving a talking cat and a spaceship, but I was barely listening. I was watching Cate—the tension in her shoulders, the way she wasn’t quite meeting my eyes, the absence of her usual nervous energy.
Something had happened. Something significant enough to change her entire demeanor.
“Cate,” I said, interrupting Megan mid-sentence. “Are you alright?”
She glanced at me, surprised. “I’m fine.”
