DANIEL
The conference room was quieter than usual, the hum of the overhead lights barely noticeable beneath the rustle of paper and the soft rhythm of typing. Lily sat across from me, focused, her brows slightly furrowed as she scrolled through our shared presentation draft on the large monitor.
Her concentration was something else—intense, exact. She had this way of narrowing in on details that made you feel like nothing else in the world mattered but what was right in front of her. I envied it. Craved it, even. Especially when her attention was pointed in my direction.
"This chart could use more contrast," she murmured, mostly to herself, reaching toward the edge of the table for the printed draft I'd marked up earlier.
I moved to hand it to her at the same time she reached out.
And that's when our hands touched.
Fingers brushed. Light, almost accidental. But we both felt it.
And neither of us moved.
