by Ellie Hall
"I mean, it's not as exciting as saving the world, one rainforest at a time." The grin broadened, and I was glad I was sitting down because heaven knew we didn't need to risk me falling down again. "But I wouldn't say website development is too thrilling either—at least to anyone who's not a tech nerd."
And then he winked at me. He winked.
No wonder girls were throwing themselves at him. It was winks like that that made them believe he wanted to pursue something more than friendship. How dare he wink at me then expect me not to get heart palpitations that would make any cardiologist nervous.
As if he realized the weapon he'd unleashed, he pushed back into the seat, his eyes dropping to the paper in his hands.
I needed to show him his wink hadn't affected me. That I, in no way, took it as a flirtatious gesture. "Haha," I tittered then froze in horror. That was not my laugh. I don't know whose laugh that was, but it sounded like it came from an eight-year-old. "There aren’t too many people who think HR is interesting either, so don't feel bad." I grabbed my computer mouse and began clicking aimlessly on my screen. Look busy. Look like you didn't even notice how handsome he was in his light-blue button-down and wrinkle-free slacks. How dare he approach life like one of those brooding Jane Austen characters who are heedless of how ridiculously attractive they are.
"I don't know. I mean, I'm sure you had a blast typing up all these…"—his eyes darted back to the paper in his hand—"rules about the dress code. Seriously, it took some creativity. I particularly like this line: Clothes must be clean. Discernible rips, tears, or holes aren't allowed."
I rolled my eyes. "Thank you. It's one of my more notable accomplishments. Although, to be honest, I didn't write that document. It was already in place when I got hired." I lifted my eyebrows. "My main role is to just enforce the rules."
That earned another laugh from him. "All right, I better mind my manners when I'm around you."
I smiled and turned back to my computer screen, happy that our conversation seemed to have taken on a more friendly vibe than the blundering one we had started with. Maybe it wouldn't be a big deal having him here this month. Sure, we had an awkward situation at the trail yesterday, but thankfully he wasn't aware of that. And sure, maybe I made a fool of myself at his desk a minute ago, but couldn’t we put that all behind us and just be normal, amicable coworkers?
"So, how long have you lived in the area?" he asked.
"I've been here since college. I tagged along with one of my roommates. Like you, though, I loved it so much I ended up staying." It was true. I really did love D.C. Nowhere else had the same diversity of activities and entertainment.
"So, you must be pretty familiar with the area. Are you an outdoorsy person?"
I pretended to scan my emails since I was still trying to keep up the uninterested vibe. "I mean, I wouldn't say I am a botanist, but I like being active."
"Oh yeah? How about the trails around here? Any ones you like to frequent?"
His question made my insides go cold. "T-trails? Like, for hiking?"
His eyes bored into mine. "More like running trails. Any good ones?"
Why was he asking me this? It seemed too specific. Too direct. I cleared my throat and looked back at my screen. "I like running occasionally." As in, Monday through Friday, 6:30-7:15 AM. The exact same time he ran every day. "The...the Potomac Heritage Trail is my favorite. It's the one that goes along the river." I opened and closed the same email three times. "You're probably familiar with it. Basically, everybody runs or walks on it." I was babbling, not even thinking about the words pouring out of my mouth. Did he know? Did he know that I was the crazy girl spying on him yesterday?
"Yeah, I know that trail. It's one of my favorites too. As a matter of fact, I just ran it yesterday."
I would not look at him. I would not meet his eyes.
As if it were being pulled by an invisible string, my head tilted toward him, my gaze meeting his. For the love. His eyes sparked with an emotion that could only be described as humor. Maybe even teasing. He knew.
"Maybe we'll cross paths one of these days running," he continued, his gaze effortlessly trailing back to the papers in his hand. "Or who knows…" He paused. It was a weighted pause. Like the ones they do in movies when you know the punchline is coming. "Maybe we already have, and we didn't even know it."
I swallowed hard. I would never recover from this. This was the pinnacle of embarrassing moments in my life. I would rather break a heel in front of him twenty more times than have him know I'd been spying on him yesterday.
"So, where do I sign on this one?" he asked, his voice pleasant and polite, as if he hadn't just been passive-aggressively accusing me of being a creeper.
I pointed to the bottom of the page, yanking back when I realized my hands were shaking. "Just at the end there," my voice squeaked out. I scooped up the stack of papers we’d gone through, forgoing my usual process of double-checking that everything had been correctly filled out. "I think that's it. I'll let you know if I need anything else from you." I forced my legs to stand, knowing it would encourage him to leave.
Luckily, he could take a hint. He set the dress code policy on my stack as he stood. "Thanks for your help." One side of his mouth twitched as if it wanted to lift into a smile, but he forced it back down. With a nod, he turned and strode out of my office.
I collapsed into my chair.
I was a mess.
Pulling my compact mirror out of my bag, I scanned the blotchy face staring back at me from the one-inch reflection. Definitely not my best. Then I saw it. Stuck right between my two front teeth.
A black sesame seed.
This was, for sure, the absolute worst day of my life.
5
Owen
I leaned back, taking full advantage of my desk chair's extra limberness as I watched Hazel step out to talk to someone a few cubicles away. Although, maybe step was a liberal description. She more shuffled.
She must've somehow taped the shoe she'd broken back together since both heels were the same height again. However, the hesitancy to her walk made me question its stability.
I tried to bite back a smile as I thought about how she had leaned onto the cubicle wall, trying to be so casual. I did feel bad about her fall. Also, about her broken shoes. They’d made her legs look awesome—not that I was checking out her legs or anything. No, Hazel Clark was off-limits. If the red flags from yesterday's run weren't enough, today's flirtatious glances solidified what I'd already known.
Hazel was just another one of those flirty, desperate females I had sworn off. Hadn’t I learned my lesson a year ago with McKenzie? Even just thinking the name made me want to glance over my shoulder.
One year ago, an innocent office fling had led to me blocking the woman from my phone, my social media—basically everything shy of getting a restraining order on her. No matter how many times I said it, McKenzie could not understand that I wasn't interested in her plans for a house in the suburbs, a couple of kids, and for some reason, me.
Apparently, even my own parents’ history hadn’t been enough to teach me the importance of treading lightly with relationships.
I let out a slow breath as I looked at Hazel. There was no way, no how, I would get even slightly involved with this new woman or those buttery soft-looking lips.
It was just a pity she had to be so dang attractive. And funny. When we got to chatting in her office, she actually seemed pretty fun and easygoing. I almost regretted embarrassing her by bringing up the running incident from yesterday.
It was clear from her reaction she hadn't realized I'd seen her hiding. Someone needed to tell her that neon pink really didn't camouflage well with dirt brown. I’d been dying to ask exactly what she’d been doing down there, but I didn’t have the heart. She was already mortified. No reason to make it worse.
I just wanted to make sure she knew that nothing was going to happen between us. I used to be fine with casual flirtations, but I was turning ov
er a new leaf. I was done feeling like the bad guy when I didn’t reciprocate someone else’s feelings.
With a sigh, I swiveled my chair until I stared back at my monitor. I still hadn’t found the bug that held everything up, but I wasn't too concerned. I'd figure it out before the week was up. If there was one thing I was good at, it was solving technical problems.
Too bad I wasn't as adept with relationships.
"Hello hello, team!
I hope everyone is having a great week! Just a few updates about the launch..."
My eyes continue to scan the email riddled with smiley faces and cheeriness. Normally, I hated the overuse of exclamation points and emojis, but somehow, the way Hazel did it made them seem genuine. Like she was truly happy to be emailing us all with project updates.
If there was one thing I'd noticed over the last week, it was that Hazel was the perfect HR Manager. She always had a smile on her face that would make Miss America proud and a pleasant word for everyone—well, everyone but me.
I scowled, slouching low in my seat. Yeah, I was grumpy. Probably because I had forgotten to eat breakfast. It had nothing to do with the fact that Hazel had danced around this office every day, purposely avoiding me.
At any rate, everybody else in the company loved her. She somehow knew the name of everybody's dog or cat and what sport their niece and nephew played. She even had an oversized candy jar on her desk that was constantly full. And it wasn't even the crappy candy that just sat there because nobody actually wanted cellophane-wrapped lemon drops. Hers was filled with chocolates that had people constantly stopping by just to say hi.
I stretched my neck, looking back at my notepad of to-dos.
After digging deep last week, I'd realized the bug affecting their system was bigger than I'd thought. Unfortunately, the defect hadn't been noticed until one of their final rounds of testing the new website.
I'd ruled out about a third of the possibilities, which was both good and bad. Good because I was theoretically closer to solving the problem; bad because it must be something low profile and hard to find. I rubbed one hand over my burning eyes. What I needed was a break, a few minutes of not staring at a screen.
I clicked back over to Hazel’s email and counted the smiley faces. Six. There were six smiley emojis in one email. Wasn't there a law against overusing those things?
As if listening to my thoughts, I heard the telltale click-click of Hazel’s shoes coming toward me. I'd discovered that she was pretty much the only woman in this office that regularly wore high heels. She was also the only woman under the age of sixty, so that probably helped. The clicks were getting closer, although it sounded like she'd slowed her pace to a crawl.
I told myself to keep my eyes on the screen, but the next thing I knew, my head had swiveled her way and was doing a full appraisal like some sort of overly eager car dealer.
She wore another one of those dang pencil skirts. The ones that hugged her hips far too well and emphasized those long legs. I bit down hard on my cheek and forced my gaze to level with hers.
She gave me a hesitant smile, her teeth clenched together like she'd just had jaw surgery and was living on a diet of pureed fruit. "Hey, Owen. I'm just going on an afternoon coffee run for everyone." The fingers holding her handbag were clamped so tight the whites of her knuckles showed. "Do you want something?"
I don't know what I was thinking. I'd set very clear boundaries for myself with this woman. Like not taking note of when she wore my new favorite pair of red high heels, or rereading her emails twenty times, or even stopping by her office under the premise of wanting candy when I really just wanted to see her. Very strict boundaries. But somehow, I found the following sentence flying out of my mouth. "Sure, why don't I come with you? I need to stretch my legs."
I don't know who was more surprised by my statement, her or me. Her eyebrows lifted, and her eyes and lips took on an identical "O" shape.
I felt my neck heat up. Nice one, Owen. Why don't you ask if you can come to her family's Thanksgiving too? I cleared my throat. "I mean, unless you wanted to be alone." Why were my palms sweating? Shock ran through me as I realized this was the first time in a while that I'd felt completely unsure of myself around a woman.
"No, of course you can come. It'll be nice to have your hands." A flush rode up her cheeks so fast it was almost comical. "To hold the coffee. Your hands will be nice to help hold the coffee." Her grip on the bag somehow tightened more.
I stood, figuring we'd better move this awkward situation I’d created forward. "Great, let's go."
Four minutes and one almost unbearably silent elevator ride later, I opened the building's door, and we stepped into the sunlight. Civilization. People. Could anyone see the current of strained awkwardness flowing between us?
I let her take the lead, not sure which of the endless coffee shops she planned on stopping at. For a minute, I tried to match my pace with hers until I realized that doing so placed our arms in perfect swinging motion with each other, like we were some sort of synchronized walkers. If I just started snapping, we could be from the opening scene of that one gang musical...West Side Story, I think?
I stutter-stepped, trying to get off sync with her, which just caused Hazel to look at me with a cocked eyebrow.
"There was a roly-poly. I didn't want to kill him." A plausible excuse.
"Wow, I didn't realize you were such an animal lover." She never broke stride, but I swear the corner of her mouth came up in a smile.
"Obviously. That's why working for Project Environment intrigued me so much. I'm all about saving the planet," I said, studying the sidewalk, "one roly-poly at a time."
She snorted. I don't care how hard she tried to make it look like a cough, I heard a definitive laugh-snort. "So, what got you started in the earth-saving business?"
We were at the corner of the street where the first coffee shop option laid. Hazel reached for the door handle. I liked that. Efficiency. Why walk another two blocks when there was one right here? I slipped forward, holding the door open.
"As altruistic as I'd like you to think I am, I honestly just took the job because it was the best offer I got." She stepped to the back of the room. Only in the city was there a giant line for coffee at three in the afternoon.
"Yeah? What made you want to become an HR manager in the first place?"
"It probably had something to do with the college degree I spent four years getting," she said as she studied the chalkboard of the day's specials.
It took me a second to judge whether she was joking. Then I saw it. The slight hint of a dimple next to the right corner of her mouth. Was it bad that I'd noticed it before? That I knew it only popped out when she pressed her lips together, trying to hold back a smile? "Was that sarcasm? Are HR managers allowed to be sarcastic?"
She finally looked at me, her lips releasing their hold on the smile she tried to hide. "It's generally frowned upon."
I wanted to continue this line of conversation. Every male instinct in my body saw the flirtatious lines that joking about HR policies could lead to. But somehow, miraculously, I managed to hold it in. "So, was there any specific reason that you chose to spend four years studying human resources?"
We inched forward with the line. "I guess you could say I like helping people. I like being the one others can turn to." She shrugged. "It's gotten me in trouble more often than not. I'm a people-pleaser to a fault, but I've always been that way."
I nodded, pretending to study the menu as I processed what she said. For some reason, this confident woman didn't mesh with the mental picture I'd created of her. The one where she was clingy and insecure. Although, to be fair, I'd based that image on the weird spying incident at the river trail. It did seem a little stalkerish at the time. I glanced over and realized she was staring at me, both eyebrows lifted. I'd been silent too long. "That's probably what makes you a great HR manager," I said.
"How about you? What got you into computers?" She tilted her head. "Let
me guess, you were a gaming addict as a kid and decided to transform your skills into a career?"
I smiled but couldn't help thinking she'd come a little too close to the truth. I had spent hours of my juvenile years sitting in front of our tiny TV, playing whatever second-hand gaming console we currently had. I had lived for those moments. The times when I could zone out in front of a pixelated video game, ignoring the argument my parents were likely having in favor of getting Donkey Kong to the next level. "Something like that. It might have also been one interfering computer science teacher pushing me in the technical direction."
"Computer science?"
I nodded as the line crept forward again. At this rate, we might get out of here sometime before the sun set. "It was an elective class I accidentally got put into in high school."
"The sewing classes were all filled up?"
I was too surprised by her dry humor to laugh. She was quite the smart alec when she wanted to be. "Actually, it was interpretive dance, but yeah, two weeks into the semester, I was hooked and have been ever since."
"What is it that you love so much about it?"
The question surprised me. No one had ever asked me that. As soon as I said anything about my career in technology, everyone got glassy-eyed and started dozing off. But Hazel looked genuinely interested.
"I think it's the discovery part of it. I'm usually looking for an issue or a mistake. It's almost like a treasure hunt."
"Interesting," was all she said.
I was dying to ask exactly what she found so interesting. What was it that made her eyes narrow at me? I looked over her shoulder to see a cashier waving at us. "I think we're up," I said, and Hazel spun back around, our conversation left hanging.
Five minutes later, we were both carrying loaded drink carriers. Hazel must've gotten coffee for the entire office. I had a couple of lattes, while Hazel carried a few of the more finicky orders. She informed me Mike from accounting had a very specific drink—almond milk, two pumps of caramel, half a pump of vanilla, and absolutely no foam—and Nancy from sales had more allergies than I even knew were possible. At any rate, I was shocked by her thoughtfulness. She hadn’t even written anything down.