“Never,” she says cheerfully and steals a green Splatter from the pile. She grins, taking another bite of her sandwich. “Just saying. He’s cute. You’re cute. I ship it.”
“Please never say ‘ship’ when referring to me again.”
She laughs, unbothered. “Fine. But maybe let yourself have a little fun? All work and no play makes employees… crabby.”
“I’m not crabby.”
“Sure, you’re not,” she says and laughs all the way down the hallway.
By five, the day is almost over, and I’ve survived without further humiliation. I’m packing up when I hear the quiet tread of shoes behind me. Large shoes.
“Hey,” Greg says, voice low.
I turn. He’s holding something in his hand—an entire bag of Splatters. And not the small kind people probably give out for Halloween. This one’s massive. Huge. The wordsMonster Sharing Sizeare sprawled across the front.
“Thought you might like to have some to take home,” he says, offering it to me.
It’s such a small gesture, but my throat tightens. “Yeah, I would. Thanks.”
He hesitates, but he’s watching me. “You’ve been avoiding me, Sean.”
It’s not an accusation, exactly. Just the truth laid bare.
I open my mouth then close it again. “I just… didn’t want things to be weird.”
“They don’t have to be.”
“I crossed a line,” I whisper. “At work.”
He takes a slow breath, steps closer—close enough that I can smell the faint hint of cinnamon and metal on his skin. “You didn’t cross it alone.”
I look up at him. His expression is soft but unwavering, and there’s something in his eyes that isn’t teasing or casual. It’s real.
“I enjoy fixing things,” he says quietly. “Computers. Printers. Maybe even the messes people make when they overthink everything.”
“Greg—”
“But I’m not here to fix you.” His voice drops lower. “You don’t need fixing, Sean. You just need someone who actually sees you.”
I look in his eyes, and for a split second, I can’t breathe. Because Greg truly sees me.
There’s nothing slick or practiced in his tone, no smirk or double meaning. Just steady, warm certainty.
I don’t know what I look like right now—probably dazed—but he smiles, and something inside me quietly clicks into place.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says finally, turning to go.
“Greg?”
He glances back.
“Thank you. For the candy.”
His smile softens. “It’s my pleasure.”
With a wink that melts my insides, he’s gone.
I’m left staring at the empty hallway, heart pounding, the weight of something new and undeniable thrumming under my skin.
