House Rules
By the time you've cleaned up the kitchen, done a load of laundry and made a note of what needs restocking in the fridge, it's already past nine.
You open your laptop and remind yourself that you actually have a job — the one that brought you here in the first place.
The role is mostly remote, but two days a week in the office, which is part of why the move was mandatory.
This morning is all introductory calls. You smile in the right places and say the right things.
But you are not entirely present.
Your mind keeps drifting back to the hallway. To Charlotte's robe in the morning light, the way it hid absolutely nothing up close. To Gabbie on top of those covers, completely at ease, and that small smile she gave her eggs after her eyes dropped for just a second.
She noticed. You should probably apologize. At some point. When you figure out how you'd even begin that sentence.
The meeting ends. You have four more.