Page 19 of The Cyrano Situation
Hart stood in the doorway, holding two coffee cups. His eyes fell on the Yirgacheffe already on my desk.
"Oh," he said. "You already got coffee."
"Yes," I said unnecessarily. "Ethiopian Yirgacheffe. Jules recommended it."
Something flickered across Hart's face—so quickly I almost missed it. Disappointment? Annoyance?
"Jules recommends a lot of things these days," he said, his voice light in a way that somehow felt heavy.
"You don't have to keep bringing me coffee," I said, then immediately regretted how abrupt it sounded. "I mean, it's very kind, but unnecessary."
Hart set one of the cups on the edge of my desk. "House blend with exactly one and a half packets of sugar. Just in case the fancy stuff doesn't work out."
Before I could thank him, he was gone.
I frowned at the second coffee cup, a strange feeling settling in my chest. Had I offended him? Hart was usually so easy to read. He was all broad smiles and expansive gestures. But lately, he seemed... complicated.
My phone buzzed again.
Was thinking about meeting for that coffee sometime? I think our conversations have been going so well and I promise not to judge if you secretly hate single-origin Ethiopian beans. And I don't mean to push you. If you're not ready, that's ok too.
My heart rate immediately accelerated to what felt like medical emergency levels. He was asking me out again. An in-person meet up where Jules would see my actual face and hear my actual voice and witness my actual awkwardness in real time.
I stared at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. What would Hart advise? Probably something sensible like "Say yes, you overthinking disaster."
But Hart wasn't here. And I was handling this on my own now. A part of me, a large part, wanted to say yes, but in the end, I panicked.
I'd like that, but my schedule is a bit complicated at the moment. Deadline season at the publishing house is intense.
There. Not a no. But not a terrifying, immediate yes.
Jules replied:
No pressure! The offer stands whenever deadline season calms down. I'm not going anywhere.
I blew out a breath and took a sip of the Yirgacheffe. It really did taste like a garden. The house blend from Hart sat untouched.
By lunchtime, I'd made significant progress on the Paris manuscript and exchanged twelve more texts with Jules, including a deeply nerdy discussion about Oxford commas that made my heart race more than it probably should have.
I was just considering whether to eat the sad desk salad I'd packed or venture out for something more adventurous when Priya from Marketing appeared in my doorway.
"Editorial meeting in ten minutes," she said. "Rebecca wants the whole team there. Something about the fall list."
I nodded, immediately reorganizing my mental schedule for the day. "I'll be there."
"So," Priya leaned against the doorframe, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Hart finally did it, huh?"
I blinked at her. "Did what?"
"Got you out of your shell! Everyone's talking about how you're practically a new man these days. Smiling. Making coffee jokes. Texting during meetings." She waggled her eyebrows. "Hart must be quite the matchmaker."
"I don't—it's not—" I sputtered, feeling my face heat for what felt like the hundredth time that day. "Jules and I are just... conversing."
"Mmhmm," Priya nodded, clearly unconvinced. "Well, whatever you call it, it's nice to see you looking happy, Cyril. We were all starting to worry you'd strain something from frowning so intensely all the time."
"I don't frown all the time," I protested weakly, feeling my traitorous lips pull down in said frown.
"You kind of do. Did. Past tense now, I guess." She pushed off from the doorframe. "See you in the meeting. Bring your new sunny disposition!"
