Naomi forced a laugh, the sound thinner than she intended, and cleared her throat as if that could smooth away the crack in her composure.
"Yes, Tash—you obviously are," she said, her voice carrying a practiced ease that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Tasha tilted her head, unconvinced, but let the silence stretch for only a beat before lifting her hand to catch the waiter's attention. The silver bangles on her wrist clinked softly as she waved, the gesture casual, but her glance at Naomi lingered—curious, searching.
"We should get back," Tasha murmured, her lips curling into a smile that looked light, though Naomi could feel the weight of unspoken questions behind it.
The waiter approached with their bill, and Tasha slid the leather folder toward her without hesitation. She didn't press, not yet. But Naomi could sense it—the way her friend's mind worked, cataloging every glance, every pause, every sigh she thought had gone unnoticed.
Back at the office, Naomi sank into her chair with the kind of resolve that came only after a storm. The chatter from the café still hummed faintly in her ears, and the ghost of Jeremiahs voice clung stubbornly to her thoughts. She shoved it aside—she had no room for distractions now.
The screen in front of her blinked with the unfinished survey, the one she had abandoned earlier when her mood had spiraled under his constant calls. Rows of questions and half-written responses stared back at her like silent accusations. Naomi exhaled through her nose, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and leaned in.Her fingers moved across the keyboard, a steady rhythm building with each keystroke.
The office buzzed around her—phones ringing, heels clicking across the tiled floor, colleagues whispering about deadlines—but Naomi drowned it all out. She wasn't going to give Jeremiah the satisfaction of knowing he had derailed her day. Not this time.Every now and then, her phone lit up on the desk, his name flashing insistently. She didn't reach for it. Instead, she pressed her lips together and typed faster, pouring her energy into each line of data, each neatly written response. By the time the clock edged closer to closing hour, the empty boxes on the screen were filled, the survey polished as though it had never been neglected.Naomi stretched back in her chair, exhaustion wrapping around her like a heavy coat, but beneath it, a quiet flicker of triumph burned. She had salvaged her day—no thanks to Jeremiah.
Naomi's phone buzzed against the desk, a sharp reminder that the day had slipped away. She glanced at the screen—5:00 p.m. The numbers glowed back at her like an escape sign. With a long breath, she pushed back her chair, the wheels squeaking faintly against the tiled floor, and began sliding her files into the drawer. Her tote bag sat open at the corner of the desk, waiting like a loyal companion as she slipped in her notebook, pens, and the half-empty water bottle she always forgot to refill.She wasn't in the mood for a shared ride today.
Her mind was heavy, knotted with thoughts of Jeremiah's endless interruptions and the dull ache of fatigue that clung to her shoulders. The idea of the grocery store felt oddly comforting—a place where everything was predictable, ordered, and waiting for her to make choices without the mess of emotions.Tasha's voice cut through her thoughts. She was already by the door, jacket slung carelessly over one arm, her expression light and teasing. "Call me when you get home, silly girl," she said, flashing Naomi that mischievous grin that always softened her roughest days.Naomi managed a small smile in return, waving her off. "I will. Don't worry."
The office lights flickered slightly overhead, casting a golden glow across the desks as people gathered their belongings. Outside, the faint hum of traffic drifted in through the windows. Naomi zipped her bag shut, swung it over her shoulder, and walked toward the exit with measured steps, her heels clicking softly.By the time she pushed through the glass doors, the city air greeted her with its familiar mixture of exhaust, warmth, and evening chatter. She turned away from the usual line of cabs waiting to whisk employees home. Not today. She needed the short walk, the chance to breathe before slipping into the grocery aisles where everything smelled of fresh bread and citrus, where she could pretend, if only for a while, that life was simple.With her phone tucked safely into her bag, she let herself blend into the stream of people heading home, her thoughts lingering on what awaited her—not just in the store, but beyond it.
Naomi's heels clicked softly against the polished tiles as she slipped through the grocery store's sliding doors. The cool air kissed her face, carrying with it the faint smell of fresh bread, citrus fruits, and the sterile tang of disinfectant. She pushed an empty cart forward, but her steps weren't aimless—her body moved with the tired precision of routine, heading straight for the back corner where rows of wine bottles gleamed under the overhead lights.Her fingers trailed lightly across the glossy shelves, stopping here and there, brushing against labels with golden lettering and deep hues. She wasn't really hungry. Hadn't been for days. Dinner, for her lately, had been nothing more than the bite of red wine paired with popcorn eaten mindlessly in front of the television. She knew it wasn't healthy, but it had become a habit she clung to—a strange mix of comfort and escape.She reached for her usual bottle when something—no, someone—slipped into her mind like a shadow from the past. Jeremiah.Her hand froze mid-air, hovering near the neck of a wine bottle. The memory rushed in with a clarity that made her heart stumble. She hadn't meant to remember him, not here, not now, but the wine counter always betrayed her.It was at this very aisle, months ago, that she had first crossed paths with him.The store had been crowded that day. She remembered weaving through the aisles, slightly flustered, her list clutched in hand. When she reached the wine section, she had stretched for a bottle on the higher shelf, standing on tiptoe, her fingers brushing against the glass but not quite gripping it. Just as she exhaled in annoyance, another hand—warm, steady, confident—reached above hers and pulled it down effortlessly.
She had turned, startled, only to meet a pair of eyes that held hers with a calm she didn't expect. Jeremiah's smile then had been disarmingly easy, the kind that stripped away any awkwardness and replaced it with curiosity."Was this the one you were reaching for?" he had asked, his voice smooth, carrying a low warmth that seemed to settle under her skin.Naomi had blinked, caught off guard, her words tumbling out softer than intended. "Yes… thank you."He had handed her the bottle, their fingers brushing for the briefest moment. She remembered the spark of it—the way her pulse quickened as though her body recognized something her mind hadn't yet put together. She had laughed lightly, an attempt to mask the sudden flutter inside her chest."Funny place to meet someone," he had said, tilting his head with a grin that made it hard to look away.She had wanted to answer, but her throat tightened. She remembered herself nodding, smiling back, and walking away far too quickly, clutching the bottle like it was a shield against the unfamiliar intensity he stirred in her.