From Frost to Flame

Part 52: Almost Something

After lunch, Pete walked back toward his desk, heart still thudding from that strange, quiet lunch.

He hadn't even touched half his food. He didn't remember the taste of anything.

He sat down, opened his laptop-

And then pulled out his phone.

Pete

Lunch happened.
With him.

Three seconds later:

Porsche

HIM??
WAIT
Vegas Vegas??
THE VEGAS??
🍽️💔👀🖤

Pete

Yes! He just... sat with me???
Asked about Sky. Asked about Mr. Day.
Then told me not to skip lunch 😳

Porsche

HOLD ON. HOLD.
HE TOLD YOU NOT TO SKIP LUNCH??
That's basically love language 😭
SOFT LAUNCH CONFIRMED.

Pete

Stop it 🫠
It wasn't like that.
I don't even know what it was.

Porsche

Oh I do.
That man was mentally ripping off Mr. Day's sleeves last week.
And now he's sitting across from you like it's a candlelight date in the cafeteria??

Pete

Porsche...

Porsche

I'm just saying.
Operation "Let's Emotionally Wreck Vegas Until He Confesses" is WORKING.
We're in phase two now, babe.

Pete

Exactly how we planned.

Porsche
Ugh, we're geniuses. If this was a drama, we'd be trending by now.

Pete stared at the screen, lips twitching. He was still flushed. Still confused. Still reeling from the unexpected warmth of that lunch-and from the feeling that maybe, just maybe...

Something really had changed.

The hours passed slowly after lunch.

Pete tried to focus on his screen, forcing himself to finish layout alignments and finalize the slide decks for Thursday's presentation. His mind, however, had other plans-constantly circling back to that quiet lunch, those few words, the way Vegas had looked at him like he mattered.

Across the floor, things carried on as usual.

Sky wandered by with a cup of cold coffee, muttered something about revisions, and disappeared again.

Mr. Day didn't return-he'd texted the team that he was stuck in meetings for the rest of the afternoon.

And Vegas? He didn't reappear either.

But Pete still felt him.

In the air. In the stillness of the cabin's glass door. In every accidental sound of polished shoes echoing on marble-hoping, for no reason, that they'd stop near his desk again.

They didn't.

By the time the office began to quiet down again, most of the team had left. The lights dimmed, the air turned cooler, and somewhere down the hall, a printer hummed softly to sleep.

Pete stretched at his desk and finally whispered to himself, "Let's call it a day."

He packed up slowly, slinging his bag over his shoulder, still unsure whether he was relieved or disappointed that he hadn't seen Vegas again.