Chapter Three: Noticing
926 Words
For a while, things felt almost… normal.
There was no official schedule, no court orders, no dramatic reintroductions of independence.
Just the three of us — me, Charles, and Arin — quietly adjusting to life in our shared home.
We didn’t speak of love anymore, not the romantic kind, but we still shared laughter. Still curled up on the couch for Friday night movies.
Still teased each other during game nights like we used to, back when things were easier.
Still passed the salt and the remote and the inside jokes like nothing had really changed.
It was muscle memory.
After so many years together — two decades of knowing each other’s moods, rhythms, and silences — we didn’t have to try.
If nothing else, we knew how to have fun.
The romance had burned out, but the friendship? The ease? The familiarity?
That remained.
I often wondered if that was a good thing or a dangerous one — that you could fall out of love with someone and still miss them even while they were sitting right beside you.
But life kept moving.
And so did I.
⸻
Work became my escape.
A place where I could be just me — not someone’s ex, not someone’s mother. Just Savannah.
And that’s where I first noticed Quincey.
He wasn’t new. He’d worked there longer than I had — someone I passed in the hallway a dozen times before without a second thought.
But one day — a Thursday — I noticed him.
Not for anything he said. Not for what he wore.
But because of how he looked at me.
Like he already knew a version of me I hadn’t shown anyone in a long time.
He was tall.
Dark-skinned, with a quiet intensity that didn’t demand attention — it attracted it.
There was mystery behind his eyes, like he was always thinking something he’d never say out loud.
We didn’t flirt. Not at first.
It was just a moment — a glance that lingered half a second longer than it should have.
A pause in the hallway where he let me go first, but his eyes stayed on me.
It didn’t feel like a new meeting.
It felt like something waking up.
I found myself wondering: Had he always looked at me that way? Or had I only just become visible to him — because I’d finally allowed myself to be seen?
It wasn’t dangerous yet.
But it was undeniable.
And deep down, something in me stirred — something I hadn’t felt in a long time:
Curiosity.
⸻
The next day, I ran into him again — this time in the break room.
I was pouring a cup of coffee, still half-asleep, when I felt him behind me. Not close. Not invasive. Just… there.
“Try the hazelnut,” he said quietly, reaching for a stirrer. “It’s the only thing in here that doesn’t taste like regret.”
I smiled without turning around. “Noted.”
He stepped beside me, dropped a sugar packet into his mug, then finally looked at me. “Rough morning?”
I shrugged. “Long night.”
He nodded, like he understood. Like he’d had a few of those himself.
There was a beat of silence before he added, “You always walk that fast down the hallway, or were you avoiding me yesterday?”
I laughed, caught off guard. “Maybe a little of both.”
He grinned, but didn’t push. Just clinked his spoon against his mug and said, “Well… I’ll try to keep up next time.”
And then he walked out — smooth, unbothered — like he hadn’t just lit a fuse under my skin.
⸻
It wasn’t a flirtation.
Not yet.
It was something quieter.
A subtle shift in the air.
The beginning of a thread I wasn’t sure I wanted to pull — but already couldn’t stop thinking about.
⸻
Later that week, I stayed late to finish up a few reports. The office had emptied out, the hum of the copy machine the only sound breaking the silence. I was stretching my neck when I heard the door open behind me.
“You always this committed?” a familiar voice asked.
I turned to see Quincey standing there, his jacket slung over one shoulder, watching me with that same quiet intensity.
“Deadlines don’t care about my work-life balance,” I said, forcing a tired smile.
He walked in a little further. “You know there’s a company event next weekend, right?”
I nodded. “Ronda mentioned it. Some leadership summit s***h happy hour hybrid?”
“Something like that. Management throws buzzwords and drinks at us until we feel appreciated.”
I laughed under my breath. “Sounds magical.”
He smiled, then tilted his head slightly. “You going?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” I said honestly. “Depends on how much pretending I feel like doing that day.”
He didn’t laugh — just nodded like he understood exactly what I meant.
“Well,” he said, taking a slow step backward toward the door, “if you do go… save me a dance.”
My eyebrows lifted. “A dance?”
His lips twitched. “Or a conversation. Whatever’s easier.”
Then he left — just like that. No lingering. No pressure.
Just a breadcrumb, dropped gently into the space between us.
And I stood there, staring at the spot where he’d been, wondering how one man could make silence feel like an invitation.
- Writer
