I walked into the kitchen and stopped. The table was set. Eggs, toast, fruit, coffee. She stood by the stove in a soft sweater and jeans, her hair pulled back loosely. No badge, no work face, just her. “How’d the couch treat you?” she asked. “Better than expected,” I said. “This breakfast looks like a reward.” She laughed.
sit, eat. We ate slowly, talking about everything except work at first, where she grew up, why she moved to Portland, the first apartment I ever had. It felt easy. Safe. You make it look easy, I said at one point. The job, the pressure, she looked down at her mug. It’s not, she said softly. I just don’t show it.
I saw something honest in her eyes then something tired, something real. It helps having someone who doesn’t make it harder, she added. After breakfast, I washed the dishes and fixed a small leak under her sink. She leaned against the doorway, watching me, smiling. You’re dangerous, she said. If I’d known you fix things, I would have invited you over sooner.
That feels like a trap, I said. She smiled, but her eyes stayed on me a little longer than before. We rode to work together, quiet but comfortable. When we pulled into the lot, she touched my arm for just a second. “I liked having you here,” she said. That warmth stayed with me until the whisper started. It was small at first.
Glances, low voices in the breakroom, then messages in the team chat, jokes, winks, comments that weren’t really jokes at all. By afternoon, it was clear people were talking. During standup, someone made a comment about strong partnerships. A few people laughed. Emma stayed calm, but I saw the tension in her jaw. Later, she messaged me.
