Missed Coffee, Found Roommate

The apartment was quiet.

Hank stood in the cramped kitchen, staring into his coffee. The eggs Sarah had made him hours earlier sat cold on the counter, half eaten. She'd left while he was in the shower, not a word about where she was going or when she'd be back. Just gone.

His chest tightened with guilt. He'd missed his coffee with Joey. His only son. Damn it.

Being away from home, away from his family, Hank had started thinking about his life. Sure, Sarah had done her best to distract him from his misery, but there were things beyond his wife that he had found himself thinking of. Like Joey. Hank didn't pretend to understand the boy. He was small, slight, not interested in sports, no drive, no hunger. He just coasted along, just getting by. Joey was so different from Juniper, his firstborn. When Joey and Juniper had been children, Hank had found himself naturally pouring himself into his daughter, ignoring his son. How could he not? She was just like him.

Did that make him a bad dad?

Maybe yes, maybe not, but bailing on his son that morning probably didn't help things.

Hank rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. Ever since Donna kicked him out on Friday night, he'd been on autopilot—sleeping at the office, crashing here, letting Sarah wrap herself around him like a balm. But even with all the sex and reassurances, he hadn't felt… whole. Not with Sarah. Not really.

It was like she was always studying him when she thought he wasn't looking, her cold green eyes like a chess player watching the board. Even when they were in bed, something in her gaze had felt distant. Strategic.

He had wanted to speak to her about it that morning, after he'd cleaned himself up. It was time to consider what they were doing. He wasn't some teenager who could have a hormone-induced weekend with a girl he'd just met. No, he was Sarah's employer! Was what they were doing even ethical?

But he'd woken to find her already dressed—tight jeans and a black turtleneck that clung to her like second skin. She was in the kitchen making breakfast when he made his way to the shower. His assumption was that she would be home when he got out, that they could eat together, that they'd be able to talk. He had been wrong.

The silence while he had eaten his eggs had eaten him right back.

A key rattled in the lock.

Hank stood up straighter, heart jolting as the apartment door swung open. Sarah stepped inside, a gust of hot summer air behind her—and with her, a young woman in baggy jeans and a faded AC/DC shirt that hung off one shoulder. She had short-cropped hair, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

"There he is," Sarah said, smiling like the sun had come out. She crossed the room in three strides and kissed him—really kissed him, arms around his neck, her body pressing into his. When she pulled back, her eyes were wide and tender. "I missed you."

There was something different in the way she was looking at him. Sarah had kissed him before. Many times before. But her eyes, formerly cold and calculating, were soft. Warm. Inviting. He recognized those eyes from the years he'd spent with Donna.

Love.

He blinked and looked again. She was staring at him with adoration. Had that been there the whole time, but his heart was too broken to see it?

He cleared his throat. "Uh. Hey."

Sarah turned and gestured to the girl behind her. "Sweetie, this is Portia. My best friend. She's been through hell—lost everything in a fire last week."

"Oh my God," Hank said, instantly forgetting his worries about Sarah and Joey. This girl had experienced a tragedy. He stepped forward, extending his hand. "I'm so sorry. You okay?"

Portia shook his hand gently. "Getting there. Sarah's been… amazing."

Sarah touched Portia's arm, nodding. "She's going to stay with us for a bit. She hasn't had a steady place to nest, and she's getting worn down. Couch, if that's okay. I promise, we'll keep out of your way."

The phrasing—with us—had they become an 'us' over the weekend? What was Sarah saying? Was she asking him to stay long-term? Was she hoping that he would?

"I know she looks a little bummy right now," Sarah went on, half-joking, "but these are literally the only clothes she has. We're going shopping later—she needs something that feels more like her."

Portia rolled her eyes with a smile. "Sarah's been telling me about you."

Hank raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

She nodded, then her expression shifted—earnest, almost embarrassed. "She says you're incredible. Like... a real man. Solid. Caring. I—" She laughed lightly, looking down at her feet. "I told her I didn't think men like that existed anymore. I guess I was wrong."

Something in her tone—admiration? Affection? No. It couldn't be. They'd just met.

Still, it stirred something in him.

"Thanks," he said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "That's kind of you to say."

"I mean it," Portia replied. "You're letting me crash here, a complete stranger. You didn't even hesitate."

Hank glanced around the apartment. It wasn't much—small couch, smaller kitchen, one bedroom—but damn if she didn’t deserve something stable. "You're not a stranger to Sarah," he said. "And it's Sarah's place, not mine. If she says you're good to stay here, then that's good enough for me. And hey—if there's anything you need, anything I can do to help you get back on your feet, I'm there. Okay?"

Portia looked at him doe-eyed, holding back tears. "Thank you."

And then Sarah was at his side again, sliding her hand into his. "You're amazing, you know that?" she said, voice husky. "I know I haven't really told you before, but it's true. Everything about you. You're more than I deserve."

He looked at her, truly looked at her, and something shifted inside him.

There was no calculation in her gaze. No cold detachment. Not even a hint. Just affection. Adoration.

"Sarah," he began, searching for the right words.

"Sweetheart," she said softly. "This weekend has been the best weekend of my life. I don't know how long I have you, how long you'll have me, but while you're here, this is your home, too. If you want Portia gone, if you want me to change anything, I'll respect your wishes."

"I don't really think..."

"You've given me so much," she continued, "I've never had a man like you in my life. The least I can do is let you be that man, here, at work, wherever. My man."

He touched her face, thumb brushing her cheek. "Isn't this a little fast?"

She leaned in, their foreheads touching. "I have loved you for so long, but never admitted it to myself. Men have always used me for my body, never respected me. I never felt that way with you. You make me feel safe. Happy. I want to make you happy, too. To love you right. To spend the rest of my life showing you how much you matter. How much you always did."

He swallowed hard. Donna's voice echoed in the back of his mind, bitter and sharp—but it was drowned out by the woman in front of him, looking at him like he was the center of her universe.

She kissed him again. Slower this time. Sweeter.

Behind them, Portia glanced away, pretending to check her phone—but Hank caught the faintest smile tug at her lips.

That strange feeling again. That glow in her eyes.

Admiration? Respect? Love?

No. That couldn't be. He was imagining things.

Still… something was happening here.

And for the first time in days he didn't feel lost.