Chapter Twenty-Five— “Familiar Faces"
479 Words
Owen slouched into the breakroom, a plastic fork dangling from his fingers, a half-eaten sandwich wrapped in crinkled wax paper in his other hand.
The TV in the corner buzzed with muted headlines nobody cared about.
Three tables were scattered across the room.
Beth sat alone at the far one.
Scrolling her phone.
Nibbling distractedly at a sad little cup of yogurt.
Owen smiled to himself.
Opportunity.
He wandered over, dropping into the seat across from her without waiting for an invitation.
Beth glanced up, polite reflex snapping into place.
"Hey," she said.
"Mind if I sit?" Owen asked, already sitting.
Beth smiled — that same polite, slightly strained smile.
"Course not."
---
They talked.
Nothing heavy.
Work.
Schedules.
Stupid icebreakers people use when they don't actually give a s**t.
Beth laughed once or twice, but Owen could tell — it was the laugh you give your boss so they feel important.
Still.
He could work with that.
---
"So, where'd you go to school?" Owen asked, stabbing at his sandwich.
Beth tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Ah... Clearwater High," she said, smiling sheepishly. "Class of 2018."
Owen blinked.
Frowned slightly.
"Wait," he said slowly. "Clearwater? My kids went there."
Beth’s eyebrows lifted.
"Really? What year?"
"Chloe graduated in 2018," Owen said, voice tightening.
Beth’s face lit up.
"Chloe Cole?" she said, grinning. "Oh my God, yeah! We were in some classes together. I even slept over at your house once — back in, like, tenth grade? Birthday party, I think."
She laughed lightly, shaking her head at the memory.
"You had this big yellow lab that kept trying to steal pizza off our plates."
---
Owen sat there, sandwich forgotten in his hand.
Watching her.
Beth.
Twenty-three, maybe twenty-four.
Friends with his daughter.
Been in his house.
Known his f*****g dog.
His stomach twisted.
His c**k twitched — and not in a good way.
For a second, just a second, he thought about standing up and walking away.
But Owen was already committed.
He leaned forward slightly, smiling the way men smile when they want something.
"Small world," he said, voice low.
Beth’s smile faltered.
The change was microscopic.
But Owen saw it.
She glanced away.
Fidgeted with the edge of her yogurt cup.
"Yeah," she said awkwardly. "Super small."
Owen let the silence stretch between them.
Testing.
Waiting.
Trying to see if she’d fill it.
She didn’t.
Instead, she gave him a tiny, tight smile —
the kind girls give when they’re trapped at the bar and don’t want to make a scene.
"I'm gonna get back to it," Beth said, grabbing her yogurt and standing.
"See you around," she tossed over her shoulder as she disappeared through the door without waiting for an answer.
---
Owen sat there alone, plastic fork limp in his hand.
The sandwich tasted like cardboard in his mouth.
- Writer
