Claire had her name spelled wrong for the third time this week. "Clare" was written on the side of her coffee cup again, and the barista didn't even look guilty. She gave him a tight smile—the kind that could curdle milk—and walked away, wondering if she should just start introducing herself as "Susan" to avoid this nonsense altogether.
It was Monday. The kind of Monday that started with spilled coffee, missed buses, and Karen-from-HR reminding her (yet again) that "punctuality is a pillar of professionalism." Claire nodded politely and mentally filed it under "Things I'll forget in ten seconds."
She was 31, lived in Chicago, and had a job that paid enough to afford oat milk but not avocado toast on weekends. She worked in digital marketing, which meant her day consisted of emails, pointless meetings, and pretending to care about engagement metrics. But something in her gut told her it was time for more. More career. More meaning. Maybe even... more than one toothbrush in her bathroom.
That's when he walked in.
Jake.
Tall, slightly scruffy, wearing the kind of coat that said, "I have student loans but I also read." He was the newest addition to the office, transferred from the New York branch. His desk was suspiciously close to hers. Claire noticed he drank black coffee. No cream, no sugar. Bold move.
They didn't speak much at first. Just a few awkward elevator nods and the occasional shared smirk during Zoom meetings when the boss's cat walked across the screen. But fate doesn't kick down doors. It knocks softly—maybe with a coffee cup, maybe with a seating chart.
Neither of them knew it yet, but that small space between their desks would one day hold shared glances, inside jokes, secret playlists, jealous whispers, spontaneous road trips, messy group vacations, and eventually... baby monitors.