COFFEE? NO FOLDER.
Ethan stared at the message.
Then laughed.
He replied.
SATURDAY. 10. MORGAN’S.
Morgan’s Café had mismatched chairs, excellent coffee, and no reason for a CEO to know it existed.
Victoria arrived five minutes early.
Ethan arrived exactly on time.
She was wearing jeans.
He noticed because he had never imagined her wearing jeans.
She noticed him noticing.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was definitely something.”
“You look less like a quarterly report.”
Victoria laughed.
It was the first time Ethan heard her laugh without pain, embarrassment, or exhaustion attached.
They talked for two hours.
Not about the job.
Mostly.
Victoria told him about growing up in Chicago.
Her father was a corporate attorney.
Her mother taught music.
Achievement had been treated like oxygen in their house.
Not cruelly.
Simply constantly.
Victoria learned early that competence created safety.
Good grades.
Good schools.
Good career.
Control.
She had never married.
Two relationships came close.
Both failed partly because work always seemed easier to solve than intimacy.
Ethan listened.
When she finally stopped, she said:
“You haven’t said much.”
“You’re talking.”
“That doesn’t usually stop executives.”
“Good thing I’m unemployed.”
She smiled.
Then asked about Sarah.
Ethan’s expression changed.
Victoria immediately said:
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s okay.”
He told her.
Sarah Carter.
Nurse.
Met Ethan when he was twenty-one because he cut his hand repairing his first motorcycle and went to urgent care.
“She said I was an idiot.”
“That was the opening line?”
“Yes.”
“Romantic.”
“Apparently.”
They married at twenty-four.
Nora.
Caleb.
Years of ordinary life.
School events.
Mortgage.
Arguments over money.
Family vacations they could barely afford.
Sarah’s diagnosis at thirty-nine.
Breast cancer.
Treatment.
Remission.
Return.
Four years later, she was gone.
“I’m sorry,” Victoria said.
Ethan nodded.
“I know.”
“How did you keep functioning?”
“I didn’t always.”
“You seem like you always function.”
“That’s because you met me after.”
He looked at the coffee.
“There were months I was angry at everything.”
“Doctors.”
“God.”
“People who complained about traffic.”
“People who said everything happens for a reason.”
Victoria winced.
“I hate that sentence.”
“Good.”
Ethan smiled faintly.
“Eventually I realized anger was charging rent.”
“And grief already had the whole house.”
Victoria stared at him.
“You say things like that often?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“I’d have to start writing them down.”
Their coffee meetings continued.
Not daily.
Not planned as a relationship.
Victoria was investigating Marcus.
Ethan was delivering packages.
They occupied different worlds again.
Yet they kept finding reasons to meet.
Sometimes Victoria asked technical questions about Hail Dynamics.
Ethan answered if they were general.
Refused if they involved decisions he did not have context for.
Sometimes Ethan asked how the board situation was going.
Victoria said:
“Messy.”
He respected that she did not turn him into a witness to office politics.
Daniel visited Ethan one Sunday.
“You’re having coffee with the CEO.”
“Sometimes.”