Episode Five
837 Words
Claire’s phone lit up at 1:58 a.m.
She wasn’t asleep. She was staring at the ceiling, thinking about laundry. And hands. And the way Daniel’s voice had gone soft when he said *“She wasn’t afraid of me.”*
The notification was a calendar invite.
*Subject: Non-Contractual Discussion*
*Time: 2:00 a.m. - 2:15 a.m.*
*Location: Kitchen*
*Attendees: You. Me. No agenda.*
*Notes: Tea provided. Declining is not an option per Clause 6, Section 3: Emergency Truce Provisions.*
There was no Clause 6, Section 3. She checked.
She went anyway.
The penthouse was dark except for the light over the stove. Daniel was already there. He wasn’t in a suit. He was in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. It was the most undressed she’d ever seen him. It was, objectively, a problem.
Two mugs of tea steamed on the island. Chamomile. He remembered.
“You made up a clause,” Claire said, leaning against the counter.
“You made up feelings,” Daniel said. “We’re even.”
He didn’t look at her. He looked at the tea. Like it was a board report he wasn’t sure how to present.
“What are we doing,” he said. Not a question. A statement that had forgotten its punctuation.
Claire wrapped her hands around her mug. The heat helped. “Drinking tea. At 2 a.m. Like functional adults.”
“We’re not functional.”
“Speak for yourself. I color-coded my to-do list today.”
That got a look. Not a smile. But the corners of his eyes softened. “Did you follow it.”
“No. But it looked very organized while I ignored it.”
He huffed. It was almost a laugh.
They stood there. The kitchen clock ticked. The fridge hummed. Outside, no city, no skyline. Just night.
“Day 26,” Daniel said.
“I’m counting.”
“Sixty-four left.”
“Are you,” Claire said, “trying to remind me or yourself.”
He finally looked up. And it was bad. Because his CEO face was gone. His spreadsheet face was gone. This was just Daniel. Tired. Honest. A man who had laughed in a laundry room and hadn’t recovered.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he said.
Claire blinked. “Tea? You boil water. You did it correctly. I’m proud.”
“Not tea.” He ran a hand through his hair. It stuck up. It was the least composed she’d ever seen him. “This. Us. The part where I send you a calendar invite at 2 a.m. because I couldn’t sleep after you laughed at my sweater.”
Claire set her mug down. Slowly. “You couldn’t sleep because I laughed.”
“I couldn’t sleep because you laughed and then you looked at me like I was a person. And I don’t have a protocol for that.”
The kitchen got very quiet.
Claire walked around the island. Not fast. Not stopping. She stopped two feet from him. Close enough to see the scar. Close enough to see that his t-shirt had a small hole near the collar. Daniel Hart, who owned forty-two identical shirts, had a favorite with a hole in it.
“You need a protocol,” she said.
“I need a system.”
“You need to stop scheduling your panic.”
He looked at her mouth. Then back up. Like he was checking if it was allowed.
“Clause 7,” he said. His voice was rough. “If either party develops personal attachment…”
“We’re not there,” Claire said. Too fast. “We’re at… Clause 6. Emergency Truce. That’s all.”
“Right.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Truce.”
She held out her hand. Her good one. Not the one with the hair tie. “Truce.”
He looked at it. Then took it. His palm was warm. Calloused. His grip was careful, like he remembered her stitches even though they were gone.
They shook. It was supposed to be a handshake. It lasted three seconds too long.
Neither of them let go first.
Then the microwave clock ticked over to 2:15.
Daniel dropped her hand like it had burned him. Stepped back. Cleared his throat.
“Meeting adjourned,” he said.
Claire picked up her tea. Her hand was shaking. She hoped he didn’t see. “Very professional. Ten out of ten. No notes.”
She went to her suite. He went to his.
At 2:17 a.m., her phone buzzed again.
New calendar invite.
*Subject: Follow-Up to Non-Contractual Discussion*
*Time: Tomorrow, 9:00 p.m.*
*Location: TBD*
*Agenda: TBD*
*Attendees: You. Me. No sticky notes.*
She stared at it.
Then she typed in the notes: *Counter-proposal: We stop pretending the agenda isn’t each other.*
She deleted it.
Rewrote: *Accepted.*
Hit send.
And for the first time since the hospital, Daniel Hart didn’t reply with *Noted*.
He replied: *Good.*
Claire laid in bed and stared at that one word until the sun came up.
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- Writer
