Graham

He wasn’t trying to see her again.

In fact, Graham had planned a very specific route: coffee, sandwich, back upstairs to his office, where nobody talked to him unless it was about taxes.

But the universe — cruel and vindictive as it was — had other plans.

He had just stepped out of The Nook, coffee and sandwich in hand, when he nearly collided with her.

Tessa.

Wearing a loose denim jacket, camera slung crossbody, Moose trotting at her side with his usual chaotic joy.

“Whoa!” she said, laughing, grabbing Moose’s leash tighter. “I almost crashed into you.”

Graham stepped back automatically.

“You’re everywhere,” he muttered without thinking.

Tessa smiled, unbothered. “Maybe you’re following me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Unlikely.”

Moose barked once like he found the idea hilarious.

An awkward beat stretched between them.

Tessa shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. Graham took a step toward the building’s stairwell.

He should leave. He had work. Paperwork didn’t file itself.

But then—

“You want to sit?” she asked casually, nodding toward the outdoor tables. “It’s nice out. Might be illegal not to enjoy it.”

Graham stared at her.

At the sunlight glinting off her camera.
At Moose’s hopeful tail wags.
At Tessa’s open, easy smile.

Against all better judgment, he found himself saying:

“Fine.”

---

Tessa

Tessa tried not to look too shocked when Graham actually sat down.

He set his sandwich and coffee on the table with mechanical precision, as if he was already regretting every life choice that led him here.

She bit back a smile and dropped into the chair across from him.

Moose flopped dramatically at their feet; the leash looped lazily around the leg of Tessa’s chair.

For a moment, they sat in silence.

Tessa fiddled with the strap of her camera.

Graham methodically unwrapped his sandwich.

The clink of cups, the hum of passing traffic, the faint indie music leaking from The Nook’s speakers — all of it filled the space between them.

“So,” Tessa said, because she couldn’t help herself, “is grumpiness genetic or just a lifestyle choice?”

Graham looked at her, unimpressed.

“Neither. It’s a survival tactic.”

She laughed, and to her surprise, Graham’s mouth twitched — the faintest flicker of a smile.

Progress.

She leaned her elbows on the table, chin resting in her hands.
“Let me guess. Only child, hated summer camps, allergic to fun?”

He took a slow sip of his coffee, considering.

“Middle child. Summer camps were inefficient. And fun is overrated.”

“Efficient summer camps?” she repeated, eyebrows raised. “What would that even look like?”

“Mandatory schedules. No arts and crafts. Quiet hours.”

Tessa snorted. “Sounds like prison.”

“Exactly.”

She laughed again, a real, bubbling sound she couldn’t contain.

And for a heartbeat—just a heartbeat—Graham looked… softer. Less like a wall and more like a person.

Tessa felt something warm uncurl in her chest.

She glanced down at Moose, who was napping peacefully between them.

“See?” she said softly. “You can survive a conversation without spontaneous combustion.”

Graham gave her a dry look but didn’t argue.

In Tessa’s book, that was basically a compliment.

---

Graham

The longer he sat there, the harder it became to convince himself this was a bad idea.

She was easy to be around, in a way that grated against all his natural instincts to stay guarded.

She didn’t demand anything from him.

She didn’t fill the silence with pointless noise.

She just… existed. Warm and bright and stubbornly cheerful.

And somehow — somehow — Graham found himself wanting to stay a little longer.

Even when Moose woke up and demanded attention.
Even when Tessa started sharing terrible stories about her earliest photography gigs (“One guy wanted glamour shots… for his pet snake.”).

Even when his sandwich was long gone and his coffee was cold.

It was dangerous.

It was reckless.

It was starting to feel like the beginning of something he hadn’t planned for.

And Graham hated things he couldn’t plan.

But still, when Tessa grinned at him and said, “Same time tomorrow?”
He didn’t say no.

He just grunted — the universal Graham version of “maybe” — and watched her walk away with Moose trotting proudly at her side.