“That I should stop asking.”
He stared.
“Your mother understands me.”
“Unfortunately.”
They reached a shaded bench.
Sat.
The CEO looked toward him.
“I want to ask something.”
“That tone worries me.”
“Why maintenance?”
He understood.
After everything she knew about his past, why that job?
“Because machines make sense.”
She waited.
He continued:
“They break for reasons.”
“You find the reason.”
“You fix it.”
“People aren’t like that.”
“No.”
“And after my wife died, I needed something that stayed predictable.”
The CEO looked down.
“How did she die?”
“Sudden illness.”
He paused.
“Fast enough that we never believed the first diagnosis.”
The CEO’s voice softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“My son was six.”
He looked toward the science building.
“He still sometimes wakes up and forgets.”
“That must…”
The CEO stopped.
There was no useful sentence.
The Single Dad appreciated her not forcing one.
He continued:
“I stopped trying to fix grief.”
“Now I just sit there when it arrives.”
The CEO looked at him.
“You’re good at that.”
“At what?”
“Sitting beside people when there isn’t anything you can fix.”
The Single Dad smiled faintly.
“Practice.”
The CEO’s eyes lowered toward his hand resting on the bench.
She moved her own closer.
Not touching.
Again.
The same distance as in the SUV.
The same almost.
The Single Dad looked.
Then at her.
She did not look away.
He slowly turned his palm upward.
The CEO placed her hand inside it.
Simple.
No dramatic kiss.
No declaration.
Their fingers closed.
The Single Dad felt unexpectedly nervous.
He had held hands before.
Not like this.
Not since his wife.
Guilt arrived immediately.
Sharp.
Automatic.
He released slightly.
The CEO noticed.
“Too much?”
He looked at her.
“No.”
“Then what?”
He swallowed.
“I haven’t…”
She understood.
Her hand remained still.
No pressure.
The Single Dad continued:
“I haven’t wanted to do this with anyone in a long time.”
The CEO’s expression softened.
“That sounds less like a reason to stop.”
He almost laughed.
“You negotiate for a living.”
“Yes.”
“You’re doing it now.”
“No.”
She squeezed gently.
“I’m waiting.”
That difference mattered.
The Single Dad looked at their hands.
Then closed his fingers around hers.
They sat like that for several minutes.
No conversation.
Children’s voices through open windows.
Wind moving through leaves.
The CEO eventually said:
“I’m very good at work.”
“I noticed.”
“I’m terrible at this.”
“So am I.”
“Good.”
He laughed.
“Why good?”