Chapter 1
A new girl joined our team.
She was pretty, but there was one thing about her that drove me nuts.
She'd stare at me all day, at work, after work, and even during lunch, her eyes were practically glued to my lunchbox.
At first, I just put up with it.
But after a while, I couldn't stand those puppy-dog eyes anymore.
So I started bringing an extra lunch every day.
I figured, she was new, just out of college, probably not making much. No way she could afford those thirteen-dollar salads downstairs. Totally normal.
Eight months later.
Her mom blocked the entrance to my office building, wearing a coat I couldn't afford in three lifetimes.
"Hey, kid," she said, "my daughter's unlimited black card hasn't seen any action for eight months.
"She says her boyfriend cooks for her every single day, and it's better than any Michelin-starred restaurant."
I glanced at Emily Jones, who was grinning like a fool while hugging my lunchbox.
Boyfriend?
Was I taking care of a stray cat, or was I actually her boyfriend?
*****
My name was Alex Carter. I was twenty-six at the time.
I was a programmer at some internet company. My badge said "Senior Developer," but honestly, my job had nothing to do with being "senior." I just fixed bugs, tweaked requirements, and got chased around by product managers all day.
My salary? It was nothing to write home about.
Enough to get by, but not enough to live comfortably.
The only thing that gave me any presence in that office was my mom's cooking skills.
Yeah, cooking.
While everyone else grabbed takeout for lunch, thirty bucks for some half-cooked boiled veggies, I would get up forty minutes early every day and bring a two-tier stainless steel thermos.
Potato on top, two dishes and a soup on the bottom.
My coworker Ben Taylor calls me the walking cafeteria of the seventeenth floor.
Every noon, he'd lean over and say, "Just smell this. Your lunch is a death sentence for takeout."
I just ignored him.
In March, a new girl joined our team.
"This is Emily Jones. She's starting today and will be working with you on the same project," the team lead said.
He led her to the empty desk across from me.
I glanced up.
She had big eyes. She wore a beige knit sweater and settled in quietly.
First days were always like this for newbies.
I didn't think much of it.
But the next day at lunch, I really started to notice her.
At noon, I opened my thermos as usual. I'd packed garlic broccoli, plus avgolemono.
The moment I lifted the lid, I felt a stare from across the desk, sharp as a nail.
I looked up.
Emily had her chin propped on her hand, eyes locked onto my thermos, not blinking at all.
How did I even describe that look?
It was like having a golden retriever at home during a steak dinner: paws on the table, chin on the edge, every bit of it screaming, "Give me a bite."
That was exactly the look on her face.
I took a bite of the avgolemono, and her throat bobbed like she was swallowing right along with me.
I picked up a piece of broccoli, and her gaze tracked my fork.
I just stared.
"Didn't you have lunch?" I asked.
Emily snapped out of it, shook her head, then said, "I did, just a salad."
Sure enough, there was a clear plastic container on her desk, holding a few limp lettuce leaves and three chunks of chicken breast. It looked exactly like rabbit food.
"Oh," I said.
Then I kept eating.
And she kept watching.
Her big, round eyes had this way of staring that made me feel like I was under a spotlight. Every bite I took felt like it was being judged, and she was analyzing every shred of broccoli like a food critic.
The next day, same story.
And the day after that, nothing changed.
This routine lasted an entire week.
Every day at 12:01, I'd crack open my thermos, and Emily would pop up, eyes locked on my lunch. She was so precise, I was pretty sure she had an alarm set just for my lunch break.
Ben leaned in, lowering his voice. "Dude, shouldn't you make a move or something?"
"Make a move? On what?" I asked.
"That new girl keeps staring at you every single day," Ben said.
"She's staring at my lunch, not at me," I replied.
"Even if it's your lunch, that's still your chance," Ben said, pushing up his glasses. "Look at her, she's been munching on lettuce for a week straight. Why don't you give her a little?"
I glanced across the desk.
Emily was poking a piece of lettuce with her fork, lifting it to her lips, but her eyes wandered over to my braised beef.
Before she could even take a bite, she set the lettuce back down.
She let out a sigh.
It was quiet, but that sigh carried a touch of grievance and pierced right through the air.
I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth.
Okay, whatever.
"Hey," I called out.
Emily looked up.
"Want some?" I asked, sliding the thermos a little closer to her.
Her eyes lit up instantly. She almost popped right out of her chair, her mouth opening and closing, like she wanted to say something but couldn't get the words out.
"Can I?" she asked.
"I brought extra. I can't finish it all," I said.
Honestly, I always brought more than enough. My mom got me a four-tier thermos, and there was always room left, so I just ended up packing three layers every time, out of habit.
Emily carefully picked up a piece of braised beef with her salad fork.
She popped it into her mouth.
She closed her eyes.
She chewed.
She swallowed.
Then she opened her eyes, and her whole expression changed.
She went from "golden retriever eyeing a bone" to "golden retriever who just got the bone."
She practically had a tail wagging behind her.
"It's delicious," she said, her voice a pitch higher than usual.
"Yeah," I replied.
"It's really delicious," she said again.
"Yeah, I know," I replied.
"Do you cook for yourself every day?" she asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
She looked at her salad box, then at my thermos. The way she eyed it, one could practically see the disappointment spilling out of her.
"Um..." Emily set down her fork. "Will there be more tomorrow?"
I hesitated.
I glanced at her pitiful salad, then at her, honestly, she was so skinny, her wrists looked so fragile, like they'd snap if one just touched them.
Just a newbie.
Fresh out of college, and her first paycheck wouldn't hit until next month.
I remembered when I first started here, scraping by at the end of the month on bread with chili sauce for a whole week.
"Alright," I said. "I'll make an extra one."
Emily flashed me a smile.
She grinned, showing off a row of neat white teeth, her eyes curving into happy crescents.
I quickly looked away and focused on my food.
Ben sent me a message: [Damn, you're fast. Already buying her lunch in the first week? Smooth move, man.]
I shot back with just two words: [Fuck off.]
Seriously, it was not like that.
I just couldn't stand watching someone go hungry, that was all.