Coffee and Dictation

Hank Granger had taken the long way to work.

He told himself it was just to clear his head, but the truth was, his car had found its way down old habits—past the park, past the corner store where Joey used to buy sodas on summer evenings, and finally up the hill to the house he used to call home.

The house looked exactly how it had the week prior. The last few days had brought great change to Hank's life, but the house had remained as he remembered it. When he pulled into the driveway, the ache hit hard. He'd built that garage with his own hands—had poured the concrete himself. He could still picture Donna standing in the doorway that first summer, hair tied up, laughing at something he'd said.

Now the driveway was empty.

He climbed out, let himself in through the side door, and called out, "Donna?"

Nothing.

The air was still and faintly stale. The kitchen was a mess—dishes in the sink, drawers half-open, a suitcase gone from the hall closet. He stepped into the living room. There was a pillow on the floor, a couple of Joey's hoodies tossed over the arm of the couch. It looked like they'd left in a hurry.

The school had called—polite but firm. Joey hadn't shown up that morning. Donna hadn't called in to let them know if he was sick. Hank had texted his son, but according to his phone the messages were still unread.

Hank had driven over here because part of him thought maybe the boy had just needed space. Maybe Donna had decided to take him somewhere, clear their heads, figure things out. But seeing the camping gear gone from the garage only deepened the worry.

He ran a hand through his hair and stood in the half-light, trying to read the house like blueprints. It didn't give up any secrets.

By the time he got to the office, it was nearly ten. The smell of fresh coffee couldn't cover the buzz in his chest.

Sarah, his Sarah, was at her desk, bright and perfect as ever, typing something that probably didn't need to be typed, legs crossed, skirt scandalously short for work. She glanced up the moment he came in, smiling an eager smile.

"There you are," she said softly. "Rough morning?"

He didn't answer. Just dropped his keys onto his desk and sat down. She'd warned him about appearances—that they had to keep things professional during office hours. That she'd call him sir when people were around, play the obedient assistant. He had to look the part of the tough boss. That was their story.

But sometimes he caught the way she looked at him—eyes warm, lips parted—and he forgot what story they were supposed to be telling.

Now, as he sat at his desk pretending to read emails, Sarah appeared in the doorway with a folder clutched to her chest. "Do you want me to handle the site report, or… would you like to review it yourself?"

She said it like an invitation. Like review could mean something else entirely.

"Bring it here," he said. His voice came out low, almost a growl. He could see the shiver run through her as she stepped closer.

He didn't need to pretend to enjoy giving orders. She didn't need to pretend to love obeying them.

And yet, even as she laid the folder on his desk, his mind was elsewhere—back in that empty house. Donna's slippers missing from beside the bed. Joey's things scattered. The silence.

"You all right?" Sarah asked, softer now.

He blinked, came back to the moment. Her hand rested lightly on his arm. The contact felt electric.

"Yeah," he lied. "Just tired."

She smiled like she didn't believe him but wouldn't push. "Then maybe you should rest your voice. Save it for when you really need to give me orders."

He gave a short laugh despite himself. God, she was good at this—light and teasing, but always pulling him back toward the heat of what they shared.

And lately, that heat was spreading.

Because it wasn't just Sarah anymore. It was Portia too—the quiet glances, the way she lingered in the doorway, barefoot, hair damp from the shower, eyes wide like she didn't quite know what to do with herself. Except she did. She knew exactly how to look at him.

Sarah had noticed, of course. Dropped little comments about "sharing everything," about how she and Portia "worked well together." He'd laughed them off, but they stuck in his mind.

It didn't seem possible that this was his life now. Two women—young, gorgeous, devoted—orbiting him like he was something worth orbiting. He'd gone from a long, loving, but routinized marriage with Donna to living with two amazing young women that seemed to make coming home every day feel like a sexual adventure.

And yet, when he thought about Donna—her sharpness, her steadiness, the years between them—something inside him still cracked open. He missed her. It would be a long time before he was over her. If he ever fully recovered.

Sighing, he rubbed his temples. "I just wish I knew where they were."

Sarah tilted her head. "They'll turn up. From what you've told me, Donna's resourceful, and Joey's got his head on his shoulders."

He looked up at her. "You say that like you know them."

A flicker crossed her face—gone almost instantly. "Just a guess. You've talked about them enough that I feel like we've met."

She turned to leave, and he couldn't help watching her walk away. The sway of her hips, the gleam of her legs. Once upon a time, he'd have rolled his eyes at a woman dressing like that in a professional setting. Now it felt like an electric secret between them—like every inch of her was his, whether he chose to claim it or not.

She paused in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder, her smile barely there. "You'll let me know if you need me for… dictation later?"

He smiled despite the knot in his chest. "Yeah, Sarah. I'll let you know."

She left him with the scent of her perfume and the sound of her heels clicking away down the hall.

Hank sat back, staring at the folder she'd left on his desk. He should open it. He should focus. But all he could think about was the empty house, the missing car, the sound of Donna's laugh that had haunted him in the garage.

They'd be fine, he told himself. They were both smart. They were just working things out. They just needed time.

Still, he found himself glancing toward the door, wondering if he should go home early. Or if Sarah might knock, close the blinds, and remind him—for a little while—that he was still wanted.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

He'd check on Donna and Joey again tomorrow.

But for now… maybe he'd clear his calendar for some private dictation.