Chapter Text
__________________________
We'll wait and see
A few days more
There may be something there that wasn't there before
________________________
Rebecca's desk looks like a paper monsoon swept through her office and decided to take up permanent residence. The coffee table that she has now taken up residence at isn't faring much better.
Fabric swatches in varying shades of black, white, and silver compete for space with vendor contracts, seating chart drafts that she has started and restarted so many times the page numbers no longer make sense, and at least three different catering menus that all somehow fail to adequately address the dietary restrictions of 150 VIP donors. Her laptop displays a color-coded timeline that has more red "URGENT" flags than any single document should reasonably contain.
She's been staring at lighting design mockups for the past forty-five minutes, trying to determine whether "moonlight silver" and "champagne silver" are actually different colors or if the vendor is simply taking the piss.
Her reading glasses slip down her nose for the second time in ten minutes. A strand of hair escapes her previously meticulous hair. She shoves it back with more force than necessary, taking the frustration out on herself.
Eight weeks. She has eight weeks to pull off An Evening in Silhouette – the most exclusive, high-stakes donor event AFC Richmond has attempted in years. One hundred and fifty ultra-wealthy guests expecting perfection. A silent auction featuring items she's had to personally source and verify. A multi-course dinner that has to accommodate everything from vegans to guests with shellfish allergies to one particularly difficult board member who apparently only eats foods that are white.
She should have hired an event manager.
The knock on her door is gentle enough that she almost misses it over the sound of her own frustrated paper-shuffling.
"Come in," she calls, not looking up from the seating chart that is absolutely not going to solve itself no matter how hard she glares at it.
"Hey there."
Ted's voice is warm, familiar in a way that makes something in her chest settle. She glances up to find him in her doorway, a box of biscuits in one hand and that ever-present smile on his face. Though the smile falters slightly as he takes in the state of her office.
Things have been different between them since he decided to stay. Since a conversation in her office after she'd been vulnerable in a way she rarely allows herself to be, asking – no, begging –him not to leave. Since he'd been equally as vulnerable after a long painful silence, and told her everything his mother had said and done and then admitted all of his greatest fears to her. Since she'd held back all her unhelpful thoughts about his mother and helped him make a plan instead. Since he'd finally looked at her with those steady brown eyes and accepted her offer.
They've been spending more time together, their daily check-ins stretching longer, conversations drifting from football to everything else. She has learned to read the subtle shifts in his expressions, knows when the cheerfulness is genuine versus performed. And Ted…well, he seems to see her in ways that still catch her off guard.
"That's, uh..." He steps inside, letting the door close behind him. "That's a lot of paperwork there. Especially this early."
Rebecca straightens on the sofa, painfully aware of how she must look. "Just the usual event planning chaos. Nothing I can't handle."
Ted moves closer, his eyes scanning the organized disaster that is her workspace. He hands her the biscuits after searching the table for an open space and coming up empty.
"What's the event?"
"The VIP donor gala." She gestures vaguely at the materials surrounding her. "Very exclusive, very expensive, very..." She pauses, searching for the right word. "Everything."
"That's right. I remember now. You got a name for it yet?"
Rebecca nods, reaching for one of the design mockups. "An Evening in Silhouette."
Ted tilts his head, considering before he nods. "That's real nice. What's the theme?"
"Black tie. Everything black and white – attire, décor, florals, maybe even the menu." She shows him the mockup, all elegant monochrome sophistication.
"Five-course dinner, silent auction, live music. A hundred and fifty of the wealthiest, most influential donors Richmond AFC has." She tries to keep her tone light, professional. "Eight weeks away."
He lets out a low whistle. "Sounds fancy."
"It is….well, hopefully."
Ted is quiet for a moment, and she watches his gaze move from her face to the desk and back again before he slowly takes a seat on the sofa a few cushions away.
"How many people you got helpin’ with this?"
Rebecca feels her jaw tighten.
"Leslie handled the initial venue booking and compiled a list of appropriate vendors. Keeley's managing some PR for sponsors and such. But the actual planning – coordinating all the details, managing the vendors, arranging the auction items, finalizing the menu, the seating charts, the timeline, the –" She cuts herself off, hearing the edge creeping into her voice. "That's me."
"Just you," Ted says quietly.
"Yes. Just me. It's fine." She shuffles the seating charts into a neater stack, giving her hands something to do. "I've planned dozens of events. I know what I'm doing."
"I don't doubt that for a second." Ted's voice is gentle, careful. "But this seems like...well, it seems like the kind of thing that usually has a whole team behind it. One of those event management companies or whatever."
Rebecca's hands still on the papers. She closes her eyes briefly, then meets his gaze.
"I should have hired an event manager. I know that. But by the time I fully realized the scope of what I had actually planned – the expectations, the sheer number of moving pieces, the level of detail these donors expect – it was too late. The event is in eight weeks. No professional event planner would take on something this size with such short notice. So here we are."
The frustration in her voice is evident now, impossible to hide. Frustration at herself, mostly. At her own hubris for thinking she could simply add this to her already overwhelming workload. At her failure to ask for help before it became too late to get any.
"Let me help."
The words are so simple, so genuine, that for a moment Rebecca isn't sure she's heard him correctly.
"You?"
Ted nods, his expression earnest. "I mean, I know I'm no fancy event planner. But I've organized plenty of fundraisers – booster club dinners, charity auctions, community events. Different scale, sure, but same basic principles, right? So I'll at least understand whatever needs done. And I can follow a timeline, make phone calls, wrangle vendors..." He smiles. "Taste-test fancy hors d'oeuvres. I'm real good at that last one."
Rebecca feels something catch in her chest – a mix of surprise and something else she can't quite name.
"Ted, you have an entire football team to manage. A season to win. You can't possibly–"
"And I've got Beard, and Nate, and Roy, and a whole staff helpin’ me do that," Ted interrupts gently. "You're doin’ this completely solo. That doesn't seem right."
She wants to argue. Wants to insist she's fine, that she can handle it, that accepting help is somehow an admission of failure. But she's so tired. And the mountain of work on her desk isn't getting any smaller.
Ted leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his full attention focused on her. When he speaks again, his voice is soft, sincere.
"Rebecca. You don't have to do everything yourself. I know you can – I'm not sayin’ you're not capable. But you don't have to. Let me help. Please."
There's something in his voice when he says please – like helping her genuinely matters to him. Not out of pity or obligation, but because he cares. Because he wants to share the burden.
The way he's looking at her is what really, truly convinces her. His gaze is steady, patient, concerned. Like he can see past the armor she wears so carefully, past the composed exterior, to the person underneath who's drowning but too proud to ask for a life raft.
Rebecca feels the unexpected sting of tears behind her eyes and blinks them away quickly. When has someone last offered to help her like this? Without wanting something in return, without an agenda, just...because?
The relief that floods through her at his offer is almost physical – a loosening in her chest she hadn't realized was there. And underneath the relief is something else. Something warm and dangerous that she absolutely does not have time to examine.
She becomes suddenly, very aware that Ted has moved closer at some point during their conversation. That she can see the exact color of his eyes – warmer brown than she's ever noticed before. That his hands are clasped loosely between his knees, his posture open and honest in a way that feels entirely Ted. That there's a small crease between his eyebrows as he waits for her answer.
She should say no. She should deal with the mess she made, like the boss she is. She should handle this herself like she handles everything else in her life.
But she's so tired of handling everything alone.
"Well." She manages what she hopes is a wry smile. "I suppose I could use someone to blame if it all goes pear-shaped."
Ted's face lights up, and the smile that spreads across his features is so genuinely pleased that Rebecca feels that dangerous warmth bloom a little brighter in her chest.
"Now that's the spirit," he says. "I'm an excellent scapegoat. It's one of my most underrated qualities."
Despite everything, Rebecca laughs.
“Okay, so. Eight weeks. What needs to happen first?"
And just like that, they're planning. Ted asks smart questions – about vendors, about the auction items, about what elements are locked in and what still needs attention. He picks up the mockups she had been glaring at earlier and immediately agrees that "moonlight silver" and "champagne silver" are absolutely the same color and she can definitely tell the vendor to stop trying to upsell her.
His enthusiasm is infectious. His practical approach to problem-solving is exactly what she needs – no drama, no overthinking, just clear steps forward. They work through the timeline together, and as Ted makes notes in his phone Rebecca feels the knot of tension in her shoulders start to ease.
There's an ease to the conversation that surprises her. They've always worked well together. But this feels different. Like a partnership. Like she isn't carrying the weight alone anymore.
But she also notices things she shouldn't be noticing.
The way Ted rolls up his sleeves at some point, revealing forearms that are more distracting than they have any right to be. How animated he gets when he's problem-solving, how his hands move as he talks. The comfortable way he occupies space in her office – sitting across from her like he belongs there, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
The way he says "we" instead of "you" when discussing the event.
"We can definitely schedule that tasting you marked so we can confirm the menu by next week."
"We can move this up in the timeline." "We've got this."
We.
How long has it been since anyone has used that word with her? Since anyone has volunteered to stand beside her rather than expecting her to handle everything alone?
And how good it feels. That's the dangerous part. How much she's already looking forward to their next planning session, to more time sitting across from him like this, to not facing the next eight weeks alone.
He goes even further, and starts saying “I.”
“I can follow up with them once you're sure you like those colors.”
“I'll schedule that meeting about the linens.”
She's noticing too much. Feeling too much. But she can't seem to stop.
"Alrighty," Ted says eventually, standing and gathering some of the vendor contracts she's given him to review. "I'll take a look at these tonight, maybe make some notes, jot down my questions.”
“Alright. Let me know if anything is confusing.”
“When do you wanna meet again? I wanna put it on my calendar that way I'm actually helpin' instead of just creatin' more work for you by makin' you keep tabs on me.”
"That sounds..." Perfect. Too perfect. "...very organized of you."
Ted grins. "I have my moments. How about we start with Wednesday? Your office, after training? I'll bring snacks, you bring your scary good eye for color, and we'll knock out at least three things on that checklist. Maybe four if we're feelin' real ambitious."
"Wednesday works."
He moves toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the handle, turning back to face her. The smile he gives her is softer now, genuine in a way that makes her heart do something complicated.
"We're gonna knock this outta the park. Swankiest soiree Richmond has ever seen.”
It should sound like empty reassurance. Coming from anyone else, it might be. But when Ted says it, Rebecca finds herself believing him.
"Thank you, Ted."
"Anytime."
And then he's gone, clicking the door softly shut behind him.
Rebecca sits back in her chair, looking at the table. The fabric swatches are still scattered across every available surface. The seating charts still need three more revisions. The timeline still has far too many red flags. Nothing has physically changed in the last thirty minutes.
But somehow, it all feels less insurmountable now.
More manageable.
She exhales slowly, feeling some of the tension drain from her shoulders. The knot in her chest has loosened. She isn't alone in this anymore.
Rebecca tells herself the warmth spreading through her is simply relief. Gratitude for practical assistance when she desperately needs it. A normal human response to unexpected kindness.
That the small smile playing at her lips as she returns to her work has nothing to do with the prospect of spending the next eight weeks in close collaboration with Ted Lasso. Nothing to do with the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, or how his voice softens when he says please, or the fact that she's noticed exactly how warm his presence makes her office feel.
She's a professional. They're colleagues. Friends. Best friends, even.
The fact that she's perhaps looking forward to Wednesday more than is strictly appropriate – well. That's simply natural. He's helping her with a massive project. Of course she looks forward to productive planning sessions.
It means nothing at all.
If Rebecca had known what the next weeks would actually entail – five near-misses, countless charged moments, and feelings she can't ignore no matter how hard she tries – she might have reconsidered his offer.
Then again, probably not.
_______________
The afternoon planning sessions have become Rebecca's favorite part of the week, though she'll never admit it out loud.
Ted shows up at 4:00 on the dot, with a bag of crisps in his hand that he dumps unceremoniously on her desk. "Brain food," he declares.
She raises an eyebrow. "That's not brain food, that's –"
"Hey now, don't knock the power of chips. And I know salt and vinegar is your favorite.”
“Crisps,” she interjects, but he just nods.
“Sometimes the brain just wants something crunchy." He's already settled into his usual chair across from her. He looks very relaxed with his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, top button undone.
He steals one of her fabric swatches, holding it up to the light from her window.
"This one's nice. Very...shiny."
"That's silk, Ted. It's supposed to be shiny."
"Well then, mission accomplished." He sets it back down carefully.
Rebecca laughs despite herself, reaching to organize them back into their neat piles. "You're having far too much fun with this."
"Are you kiddin’? This is great. I'm learning all kinds of fancy stuff. Did you know there are seventeen different kinds of white?"
"There are more than seventeen."
"See? Educational." He's grinning at her, that easy smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Plus, I get to hang out with you a few extra times a week and not talk about work. That's a win in my book."
Something flutters in her chest at that. Hang out with you. Like he's choosing to be here, not just helping out of obligation.
Rebecca is suddenly aware of how comfortable this has all become. Ted is sprawled in the chair across from her, pulling reading glasses from his shirt pocket and sliding them on to look at his phone. Those damn glasses. The first time she'd seen him wearing them during a planning session, she'd felt heat pool low in her belly – wholly inappropriate and impossible to ignore. Something about the juxtaposition of playful Ted Lasso looking suddenly refined, intellectual, absurdly attractive. She'd had to excuse herself for water just to reset. She's better at controlling her reaction now. Mostly.
She kicked her shoes off under the desk twenty minutes ago. Her hair is pulled back with a clip instead of perfectly styled. The easy way they share the bag of crisps between them without asking. How he knows to bring salt and vinegar, her favorite. The casual intimacy of it all.
She would never let anyone else see her like this in her office. But it's Ted.
"Okay," Ted says, squinting at his phone screen. "Let's see. We've got the string quartet locked in – they're gonna do a mix of classical and what did you call it? Modern interpretations?"
"Contemporary classical. Essentially they'll play recognizable songs but arranged for strings."
"Right, right. That's real nice. Classy but not boring." He scrolls down. "Table arrangements are almost done, just waiting on final confirmations from a few guests. And I talked to the auction coordinator yesterday about the display timeline."
"What did he say?"
"Said we're in good shape on the item list, but we need to finalize the layout. Something about sightlines and flow?" He glances up at her. "You got those floor plans handy? The ones with all the measurements?"
"They're here somewhere." Rebecca stands to look on the credenza behind her desk, searching through the organized chaos of folders. "I had them out this morning when I was calculating spacing for the…oh, here."
She turns back to find Ted has moved. He's no longer in his chair but standing beside her desk, leaning over to look at his phone where he's apparently pulled up some photos.
"Oh, good," he says, not looking up. "Because I took some pictures of what he was talking about, and I think if we–"
Rebecca reaches across the desk at the same time Ted gestures to the phone, and suddenly they're in the same space. Her arm brushes his. She can smell his cologne – something woodsy and warm that she's becoming far too familiar with – mixed with coffee and the laundry detergent he uses.
"Sorry, I just – " She tries to step back but she's already against the credenza.
"No, I was –" Ted starts to move but he's wedged between her desk and where she's standing.
They both laugh, a little breathless, and for a second neither of them moves.
"Here," Rebecca says, holding up the floor plans. "Let me just –"
She means to hand them to him. She does. But Ted reaches for them at the same time, and instead of taking the folder, his hand lands on top of hers.
They both freeze.
His hand is warm. Solid. She can feel the calluses on his palm, probably from coaching, from demonstrating drills. His fingers curl slightly, not quite gripping but not pulling away either.
Rebecca looks up.
Ted is already looking at her. His eyes are darker than usual, pupils wider. She sees the exact moment his gaze drops to her mouth, just for a second, before flicking back up.
"Rebecca." Her name comes out quieter than his usual voice. A little rough.
She is acutely aware of every point of contact. His hand on hers. The folder pressed between their palms. How close he's standing…close enough that she can see the faint freckles across his nose, a small scar near his temple she's never noticed before. The way his chest rises and falls, breathing just slightly faster than normal.
Her own heart is hammering.
"Ted, I – " But she doesn't know how to finish that sentence. Doesn't know what she was going to say.
His thumb moves. Just barely, just the smallest brush across her knuckles, but it sends electricity straight up her arm.
She knows she should step back. Should laugh this off, make a joke, grab the folder and return to her side of the desk where there's safe distance and professional boundaries.
She doesn't move.
Neither does he.
Ted's gaze drops to her mouth again. Lingers this time. His tongue touches his bottom lip, and Rebecca tracks the movement. Finds herself wondering what he tastes like. If he'd kiss her softly and gentle or with that same enthusiasm he brings to everything else.
Christ. When did she start thinking about kissing Ted Lasso?
"We should – " Ted's voice is even quieter now. Strained. His hand tightens just slightly over hers.
"Yes." But she takes the tiniest step forward. And then she’s leaning in. Just a fraction. Just enough that if he wanted to – if they both wanted to –
The air between them feels charged. Heavy. Like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.
Ted leans in. His free hand comes up, hovering near her waist, not quite touching but close enough that she can feel the heat of it through her blouse.
Rebecca's breath catches. Her eyes start to flutter closed.
The door bangs open.
"Rebecca, I've got the – oh!" Higgins stops short in the doorway, eyes widening as he takes in the scene.
Rebecca and Ted spring apart like they've been electrocuted. The folder falls to the floor between them, papers scattering.
"I'm so sorry!" Higgins is already backing toward the door, face flushing. "I should have knocked, I just thought since it was Wednesday and Ted's always here I could just…I'll come back! Later! Much later!"
The door slams shut.
Rebecca stares at it, heart still racing, face burning. She takes a breath, then another, trying to process what just almost –
"Well," Ted says, and she hears the slight shake in his voice before he attempts his usual lightness. "That was – "
"Terrifying?" Rebecca finishes, finally looking at him.
His hair is mussed on one side – did she do that? Was she about to do that? His cheeks are flushed, and there's something almost boyish about the way he's looking at her. Caught out but not quite apologetic.
"I was gonna say 'unfortunate timing' but yeah, terrifying works too." He huffs out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
Despite the hammering of her heart, despite the electricity still crackling in the air between them, Rebecca feels her mouth twitch.
"Poor Leslie. He looked absolutely mortified.”
"I mean, in his defense, that probably looked –" Ted gestures vaguely between them.
"Yes. It probably did." Because it was. Or almost was. Christ.
They stare at each other for a moment. Rebecca expects the awkwardness to be unbearable, anticipating wanting to flee or make an excuse or pretend this never happened.
But instead, she sees the corner of Ted's mouth quirk up, just slightly and she feels an answering pull at her own lips.
"We really gotta stop almost givin’ Higgins heart attacks," Ted says, and there's warmth in his voice, familiarity. Like even in this mortifying moment, they're still them.
"We?" Rebecca raises an eyebrow, grasping onto the banter like a lifeline. "I believe you were the one who moved into my personal space, Coach Lasso.”
"Hey now, you reached for those floor plans at the exact same time I did. That's at least fifty percent your fault, boss."
The teasing helps. The nickname helps. But Rebecca is still very aware that she can see exactly where his pulse is jumping at his throat. That her own hands are shaking slightly.
"Well," she says, bending down to gather the scattered papers, grateful for something to do. "I suppose we should –”
"Yeah." Ted crouches down to help, and for a second their hands almost collide again over the same piece of paper.
They both freeze, eyes meeting.
Then Ted deliberately picks up a different piece of paper, and Rebecca feels something in her chest squeeze. Even now, even after what almost happened, he's being careful. Giving her space. Letting her set the pace.
It makes it somehow worse. Or better. She's not sure which.
They gather the papers in silence, but it's not the comfortable silence from earlier. This one hums with everything unsaid.
"I should–" Ted gestures vaguely toward his chair, the safe distance it represents.
"Yes. Good. We should get back to –" Rebecca waves at the desk, the timeline, the work that suddenly feels very far away.
Ted returns to his chair. Rebecca returns to hers. They both stare at the desk between them.
The comfortable ease from twenty minutes ago hasn't completely evaporated – there's still something warm underneath all the uncertainty. But it's changed. Shifted into something electric and terrifying and impossible to ignore.
"So," Ted says, clearing his throat but meeting her eyes. "The floor plans.”
"Right. The floor plans." Rebecca tries for her usual composed tone but knows she doesn't quite land it.
Ted's mouth quirks again, just slightly, like he knows.
Neither of them picks up the folder.
Rebecca forces herself to look at the papers scattered across her desk instead of at Ted. Her heart is still racing, palms damp in a way that's entirely unprofessional. She reaches for the timeline document, but the words blur together.
Ted clears his throat again. "So the, uh, the auction layout. We were gonna –”
"Yes. The sightlines." She pulls the floor plans toward her, grateful for something concrete to focus on. "If we position the tables in an L-shape instead of…"
"Right, yeah. That makes sense."
But his voice is distracted, and when she glances up, he's looking at her instead of the plans.
Their eyes meet.
The air between them shifts again, that same charged feeling from moments ago.
Ted clears his throat and looks away first. "Actually, Rebecca, I think maybe–"
He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck again. "I think maybe we should call it for today. Let things...settle a bit. I can look over the floorplans, send you my notes?"
It's not a lie. It's honest. And somehow that makes Rebecca's chest ache in a completely different way.
"That's probably...yes. That's probably wise.”
"Yeah." Ted stands, gathering his jacket from the back of the chair. His movements are slower now, more deliberate. Like he's giving her – giving them both – time to adjust.
"I'll see you tomorrow though? Regular time?"
"Of course." Rebecca tries for a smile. "We still have a party to plan."
"We do." Ted returns the smile, and it's softer than his usual grin. More genuine. "And we're gonna knock it outta the park.”
He's at the door now, hand on the handle. This time he does turn back.
"Rebecca?"
"Yes?"
For a moment he just looks at her, and Rebecca can't quite read his expression.
"Thanks for letting me help with this. I mean it."
"Ted, I should be thanking you."
"Nah." He shakes his head, still smiling. "I'm right where I wanna be.”
And then he's gone.
Rebecca sits in the sudden silence of her office, those last words echoing in her head. I'm right where I wanna be.
Her hand tingles where he touched it. She can still smell his cologne in the air.
"Fuck," she whispers to the empty room.
___________
By the time Rebecca gets home, she's nearly convinced herself she imagined the whole thing.
Nearly.
She pours herself a glass of wine and sinks onto her sofa, finally kicking off the heels she'd slipped back on before leaving the office. The house is too quiet. Too much space for her thoughts.
She almost kissed Ted.
No. Ted had almost kissed her.
No. That's not right either. They'd almost kissed each other. A mutual almost-kiss. A near-miss that left her skin buzzing and her mind spinning and her entire careful friendship with him feeling suddenly precarious.
Rebecca takes a long sip of wine and pulls out her phone.
She should text Keeley. Keeley would know what to say, would either laugh it off or validate her feelings or –
But what would she even say? "Almost snogged my manager in my office this afternoon, thoughts?"
Her thumb hovers over Keeley's name before deciding to suck it up.
Random question.
The three dots appear almost immediately. Of course Keeley is glued to her phone.
ooh i love random questions
hit me babe
Rebecca stares at the screen, trying to figure out how to phrase this without actually saying it.
What do you think of Ted?
Ted Lasso?
Our Ted?
Yes, our Ted.
I mean I think he's brilliant? you know that
Why what's wrong? did something happen?
Rebecca's heart lurches. She's been too obvious.
Nothing happened. Just curious about your read on him.
After 3 years?!? Rebecca Welton you are the worst liar. 🙄
Something definitely happened
TELL ME
Rebecca closes her eyes, takes another sip of wine, and types.
Hypothetically
oh here we go
If someone were to develop... feelings... for a colleague
BABE
ARE YOU SAYING WHAT I THINK YOU'RE SAYING?!?!?!
I'm not saying anything. It's hypothetical.
you fancy ted!!!
oh my god you fancy ted lasso
this is the best day of my life
I didn’t say that.
you absolutely did
"what do you think of ted"
"hypothetically" "feelings" "colleague"
Rebecca you might as well have sent me a presentation
Despite herself, Rebecca laughs. Trust Keeley to cut through her deflection like a knife through butter.
It’s complicated.
Babe everything with you is complicated
But ted? Ted is like the least complicated person on earth
He's kind and funny and fit
And he clearly adores you
Rebecca's breath catches at that last part.
He doesn't..
Oh, please
I've seen the way he looks at you
Everyone has
Except apparently you
And maybe him but honestly I think he knows
He's just too polite to do anything about it
Rebecca stares at those words. The way he looks at you.
Is that true? Does Ted look at her a certain way? Has she been so busy trying not to notice him that she's missed him noticing her?
Forget I said anything. I don't think this is a good idea.
Since when do you only do things that are good ideas?
You hired Ted in the first place to sabotage the club
Look how that turned out
That's different.
Is it though?
Babe if you like him just tell him
Life's too short for all this pining
I'm not pining.
You literally just texted me "what do you think of ted" out of nowhere on a Wednesday night
That's textbook pining
Rebecca doesn't have a good response to that.
Her phone buzzes before she can formulate one, but it's not Keeley this time.
It's Ted.
Hey! Found that vendor with the centerpiece options. Sending you the link.
Also realized I took your copy of the floor plans, too. 😬 I can drop it by tomorrow or just bring it Friday?
Rebecca stares at the messages. They're perfectly innocuous. Perfectly professional. Work-related.
So why does her heart rate pick up just seeing his name on her screen?
Friday is fine. Thank you for looking into the centerpieces.
She watches the screen. Sees the three dots appear, disappear, appear again.
No problem. It's actually kinda fun.
The planning stuff I mean. Not just the centerpieces. 😁
Though those are pretty great too.
Anyway. See you tomorrow boss.
Rebecca reads the messages three times, looking for subtext that might not be there. Is "it's actually kinda fun" just about event planning? Or is it about spending time with her?
Her phone buzzes again. Keeley.
You're texting him right now aren't you
I can sense these things
Go away, Keeley.
KNEW IT
This is amazing
I'm so happy for you 😍
Also slightly jealous i'm not there to witness this in real time 😫
But mostly happy
Text me tomorrow and tell me everything
And by everything i mean EVERYTHING
Love you, babe 😘
Go get your man
Goodnight, Keeley.
Rebecca sets her phone down and drains the rest of her wine.
She's not going to "get her man." That's ridiculous. They're colleagues. Friends. He works for her, for God's sake. There are professional boundaries and ethical considerations and a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea.
But her hand still tingles where he touched it.
And she's already looking forward to Friday with an intensity that feels dangerous.
Rebecca closes her eyes and lets herself remember it…just for a moment. The weight of his hand on hers. The way his eyes darkened when he looked at her mouth. How close they'd been. How easy it would have been to just lean in those last few inches and –
Her phone buzzes one more time.
Sleep well, Rebecca. 🌛
It's from Ted.
Rebecca stares at the message, her chest doing something complicated. He never texts her goodnight. Never adds anything personal after their work messages.
But he just did.
She types and deletes three different responses before settling.
You too, Ted.
Safe. Perfectly friendly. Giving nothing away.
Except she's smiling at her phone like a teenager, and she knows – she absolutely knows – that everything just changed.