Chapter 3

In the end, fixing up Frank's love letter landed squarely on my plate.

He sat down next to me, spread out his handwritten draft on the desk, and gave me his most sincere look. "Bro, you're good with words help me polish this up, will you?"

I glanced at the paper.

The very first line read: [The moment I saw you, it was like my heart got zapped.]

I pushed the paper back to him. "Sorry, I can't help you with this."

He looked panicked. "Why not?"

Because I could't help he write a love letter to my ex-wife.

Of course, I couldn't say that out loud.

I said, "I've never really tried to win a girl over. I'm hopeless at this stuff."

Frank looked me up and down and nodded. "Right, I forgot you're basically hopelessly single."

I smiled and didn't say a word.

*****

Three days later, the company threw a welcome dinner for the new CEO.

It was held at a fancy restaurant downtown, and HR made it clear everyone had to show up, no excuses.

I checked out the seating chart ahead of time.

Julia was sitting at the head table.

I got stuck at table six, tucked away in the corner.

A whole five tables between us.

It was safe distance.

When I got there, I let out a sigh of relief, found my seat, sat down, poured myself a cup of coffee, and planned to keep a low profile all night.

But before I could even warm my seat, Zoe Smith from HR rushed over. "Henry, you need to move. There's a spot open at the head table and they need you there."

I said, "I'm fine right here."

"Ms. Sinclair specifically asked for you."

My poker face almost cracked.

Ms. Sinclair's order. It was very well.

My legs felt like jelly as I carried my cup over to the head table.

There were eight people at the main table, including Julia, the company's top brass, and department heads.

I got placed right at Julia's right hand side.

Frank spotted me at the main table and his jaw dropped so hard I could've fit a whole egg in there.

When I sat down, Julia was deep in conversation with the Chief Financial Officer about the quarterly budget.

She didn't even look at me, but I caught a tiny smirk at the corner of her mouth.

She was definitely smiling because she was watching me make a fool of myself.

The dinner kicked off, and the dishes started coming out one after another.

For the first few courses, I was sitting there like I had needles in my seat, keeping my head down, barely saying a word, trying to blend into the background and not draw any attention.

Then they brought out a plate of salad with peanut butter mixed in.

Julia's fork paused over the plate for a moment.

Then she moved right past that dish.

I couldn't help but stare at that salad for a couple seconds.

She was allergic to peanuts.

I knew that better than anyone.

Back when we were married, we went to her aunt's place for New Year's dinner. There was peanut butter pie on the table, and she accidentally took a bite. Her lips were swollen all afternoon.

That night, I ended up making two trips to the pharmacy to get her medicine.

When I came to my senses, I realized my fork had already reached out unconsciously.

Before I even realized it, I was picking out the vegetables covered in peanut butter.

My hands moved smoothly, like I'd done this a thousand times. Which, honestly, it was.

Back when we ate together, I was always the one doing this for her.

As I was picking out them, I suddenly realized everyone at the table had gone quiet.

Then I looked up.

The Chief Financial Officer across from me was staring, his fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

The Marketing Manager on my left had a piece of rib halfway in his mouth, totally forgetting to chew.

Julia turned to look at me, momentarily stunned, her eyes caught off guard.

I was still holding a a leaf of lettuce.

The room went dead silent.

I said, "I really like peanut butter."

The Chief Financial Officer raised an eyebrow. "Then why not put them on your plate? Why are you picking them out one by one from the dish?"

I said, "I have OCD."

Julia lowered her head and took a sip of water.

But I could see her shoulders shaking.

She was barely holding back a laugh.

I swear, I'm not done with Julia.

Halfway through the dinner, Frank came charging over with a glass of wine in hand.

He was about to propose a toast to Julia.

I prayed for him in my heart. Bro, there's no stopping him.

He stood in front of Julia, cleared throat and put on a face so serious it was like he was giving a eulogy. "Ms. Sinclair, I'm Frank Miller from the Marketing Department. It's an honor to work under your leadership. I'll drink to that."

With that, he threw his head back and downed the whole glass in one gulp.

And immediately choked.

Wine sprayed out of his nose.

Right in Julia's direction.

Luckily, he was far enough away that it only hit the tablecloth.

But the embarrassment was more than enough.

Frank was coughing and apologizing, his face bright red.

Julia's expression never changed, not even a flicker. She stayed cool, polite, and totally professional.

But she did turn and shoot me a look.

She was saying with her eyes, "Your friend is something else."

I kept my head down, shoveling food into my mouth, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

*****

When the dinner ended, I was the first to leave.

Frank caught up to me and grabbed my arm. "Henry, she was checking you out a lot. Did you notice?"

I said, "You're drunk."

"I'm serious. Julia was looking at you differently."

I picked up my pace.

Frank called after me, "Henry, what are you hiding from me?"

I didn't look back.

If I told him what I'm hiding, he'd probably ascend right on the spot.