It had been two days.
The power, thank god, was restored sometime in the early hours of the morning, so we were able to put together the materials for the report and send them to our investors on time. The morning after had been fairly pleasant, and even with the sun up and the power back, it still seemed like we were living in a different universe.
The two days that followed our all-nighter were strange and exciting. Samantha and I waited for the snow to get cleared and found different ways to occupy our time. Netflix marathon, sex, a game of paper football, sex, an old twister board we found in the back room that led to (you guessed it) more sex. We continued sleeping on the pull-out bed and sustained ourselves with food that was left in the breakroom. We went through Sabryna’s leftover pad Thai and Cassidy’s stash of protein bars. It wasn’t that bad. It was a bizarre, emotional whirlwind of a two-day slumber party, and every minute I spent with Samantha managed to in some way surprise me.
We had emailed our employees some assignments to work on while it was still unsafe to travel to the office. After waking up next to Samantha for the second time, we looked outside to see the roads had been salted and cars were beginning to cautiously venture out into the street. It was time to go home, and we could feel it.
“So,” Samantha said, as we cleaned up the mess we had made from our two days of camping out. “I think I’m going to call a cab.”
“Me too,” I said. “Samantha?”
“Yeah?” she asked.
“What now?”
Samantha and I looked at each other, frozen in the moment. There are some loves that only work in worlds like our snow-covered office, landscapes where only the two of you exist with no interference from the outside world. What if what Samantha and I had was one of them?
“I don’t know, Johnathan,” Samantha said, looking down at her briefcase sadly. “Maybe this was a mistake. I mean, I don’t know if I could ever feel right about dating you if you made a decision that hurt my employees…you get that, right?”
I nodded. “And I hope you know that I’m not changing my mind just because we slept together.” The formalized tone I presented when I said the words left me with an ache of guilt in my chest.
“Of course not,” Samantha said.
“Samantha, I…” I started, swallowing my pride. “I really, really, like you, and I know it took longer than maybe you would like, and that it’s complicated, but I would really like to—”
“I don’t know, Johnathan,” Samantha said matter-of-factly, and I felt my heart sink. “I have to think things over.”
“I understand,” I said, as I pushed the pull-out bed back into a sofa. “So, I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days? For the next meeting?”
“Yeah,” Samantha said, and gave me a smile that didn’t glow nearly as bright as the ones I had seen from her before. She kissed me on the cheek and went downstairs to wait for her taxi. “See you soon, okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to sound upset as she walked out.
I watched Samantha walk out to meet her taxi from the office window. The pristine glow of the freshly fallen snow had faded, replaced with a mess of grayish slush and salt. The magic world where Samantha and I had finally reconciled our differences had melted with the snow, and I was afraid it would never return.
***
FIVE DAYS LATER
I decided to take my lunch break at Melodie’s Café, a tiny restaurant nestled in the space next to our towering office building. Melodie’s existed in a strange place…it was a mom and pop that had been there since the 1940s, but they loved trying out the kinds of strange and trendy foods the young people of Seattle craved. It was the only place in town where you could order a sushi burrito and a cronut while eating next to a jukebox that had been in the same place for half a century.
I usually avoided Melodie’s at peak times because of the crowds, but because of the stress of the previous week, I had been nursing an awful craving for one of their bacon-avocado burgers that couldn’t be put off any longer. I opened the door and walked in as the bell on the door echoed across the entryway. Sure enough, the place was packed, filled with families and groups of work friends trying to squeeze in a quick bite before going back to the grind. I scanned the room for a seat, thinking I might be out of luck until I saw a seat open at the lunch counter.
I walked over and took a seat, grabbing one of the menus so I could scan its neon-printed, greasy-fingerprinted glory.
“What can I get for you sir?” a cute waitress with a pixie cut asked, smiling as she scanned me up and down.
“A coke and the bacon-avocado burger and um…a side a cheese fries would be great too.”
“Coming right up,” she said, smiling down at the name engraved on my briefcase. “…Mr. Torver.”
“Thanks,” I said, and amused myself by scrolling through old texts on my phone.
“Torver!” said a deep, yet withered voice to my right. “You’re not Johnathan Torver, are you? Of the Torver Group?”
“Yes,” I said, shaking the man’s hand. “And you are?”
“Oh,” the man said, as if he was offended that I did not know him as he knew me. “I’m Sam Tiffany. I work for the Wordsworth Company. Been there for years.”
“Oh!” I said, suddenly flustered. “Sam. Of course,” I lied.
The man let out a gasping laugh and patted my arm. “Don’t worry son, I know you’re a busy man.” Sam Tiffany looked as if he was nearing eighty, and had a few wisps of dark gray hair left that were combed neatly around the back of his head. You could tell he used to be tall, probably over six feet, but his back had grown old, leaving him perennially hunched over. He had kind eyes and wore work clothes that looked like he bought them in the eighties, worn down in a comfortable way that on the elderly is even a little bit charming.
“Have you ever had one of these sushi burritos, Johnathan?” Sam said, pointing a shaking finger at the menu. “I mean, I’ve just gotten used to sushi, but now it’s shaped like a burrito? And technically, isn’t that just one very large sushi roll, I mean, when you really think about it?”
I laughed. “You’re a wise man, Mr. Tiffany…and no, I haven’t. I like to keep my sushi and my burritos separate.”
“That’s why you’re the one in charge of the company, young man,” Sam said, stirring the bowl of grits in front of him. “You have good, old-fashioned sense. You’re not like these other businessmen taking crazy risks and betting on impossible ideas. You keep things simple and practical, at least, that’s what I’ve heard from Ms. Doyle.”
I swallowed down a bite of my burger. “Thanks,” I mumbled awkwardly. “How long have you been working at Wordsworth?”
“Since around 1963,” Mr. Tiffany said, “Long before you were born.”
“Wow,” I said, already developing an affection for this strange man I had just met at a restaurant counter. “That’s over fifty years.”
“You bet,” Sam said with a sneaky smile. “I got that job right out of college, and I’ve been there ever since. Wordsworth is a part of me now. They were there for me as I built a career and became a man, they paid me enough money to send both my daughters to good colleges, and Samantha supported me through my wife’s illness a few years back.” He looked directly at me with a serious sort of twinkle in his eye. “They’re as good as you get these days, and I appreciate that you’re helping us out.”
I smiled weakly at him, guilt gnawing at my insides. “Of course,” I said. I picked at the fries on my plate, and I could still feel the kindness of Mr. Tiffany’s gaze burning into the side of my head. Samantha was right. I didn’t have employees like him, men and women who had given their lives to a company, intertwined its growth with their own. To have people join my company who were like Sam Tiffany, who had loyalty and experience and faith in us…that might be worth the extra cost.
“Hey, I’ve got to go,” I told Mr. Tiffany, abandoning half my uneaten burger on my plate. “It was nice to meet you sir, and thanks for everything.” I shook his hand excitedly.
“Thanks for what?” he asked.
“Well,” I said, “I’ve been trying to make a decision for a while, and I think you might have just helped me make up my mind.”
“Really?” he said, adjusting his glasses. “Then, why have you got to run off so fast?”
“There’s someone I’m really excited to tell,” I said, grinning shamelessly as I ran out the door to my car, the sound of the bell on the café door echoing off behind me.
***
Since there wasn’t much work for Samantha to do at the office right now, I figured she would be at home. I called Sabryna and got her address from the company files, and within minutes I was speeding down the highway to her house.
I drummed my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as I drove along. As much as I hated to admit it, I had been going crazy. I could barely focus in the office — everything in the building had memories of Samantha and I lingering around it. I saw myself kissing her neck when I saw the conference room table, and I saw us slow dancing across the room as I walked to my office. She was everywhere, and I needed her back.
She wouldn’t take me back.
I was no idiot. I had done dozens of business negotiations before, and I knew what it looked like when someone felt you were too complicated to be worth their time. I wasn’t Samantha’s type…she had always thought I was too rich, too spoiled, too arrogant…but I didn’t care. I loved her, and I wanted her. I knew she would never agree to date me seriously, but I wanted her respect and her approval. I finally understood the meaning of what she had been trying to defend to me all this time, and for some reason, I was feeling tough enough to go admit it to her.
Samantha lived in a tiny, yet prim, colonial on the edge of the suburbs, in a well-to-do neighborhood. Her car was parked in the driveway lined with neatly-trimmed hedges, so I assumed she was at home. I took a deep breath and let my head rest on the steering wheel. A strange feeling came over me when I realized I had never done this before.
I had never swallowed my pride and admitted I was wrong. Not until now. And especially after what felt like Samantha’s hint at an eventual rejection.
I walked up to the front steps with my hands in my pockets, imagining what she would think when she saw me standing outside her door. It wasn’t too late. I could get in the car and turn around. I could…
I winced as a pressed the doorbell.
I heard the sound of floorboards creaking and looked up to see Samantha Doyle crack the door a foot, and then open it the rest of the way.
“Johnathan,” she said, looking at me with surprise. She was dressed for a day of working from home, but she was still as cute as ever. She wore gray yoga pants with a sailor striped tank top and had her dark hair up in a loose bun.
“Samantha,” I said, looking up at her cautiously. “I’m not here to ask if you want to be with me again. It’s okay. I get it. But—” I sighed. “I did decide today that I’m not going to lay off your employees, and I know how much it’s been stressing out, and…well, I just thought you should be the first to know.”
Samantha just laughed. “I do want to be with you, Johnathan.”
“What?” I said confusedly. “Did you even hear what I said about your employees?”
Samantha sat down on her front steps and practically giggled. “Of course I did,” she said as I sat down beside her. “And I’m thankful for it, really. But what on earth changed your mind?”
“I had a burger with Sam Tiffany,” I confessed.
Samantha shook her head, beaming. “Of course,” she said. “Even someone as soulless as you couldn’t lay that man off.”
“Hey!” I said, elbowing her. “So, were you serious…about dating me? About giving me a chance?”
Samantha snuggled up to me and sighed. “Well,” she said. “I realized that being someone who cares about the people she works with means I have to learn to trust them…” she giggled. “…Even if initially, they kind of seem like douchebags.”
I shook my head and laughed. “That can’t be easy.”
Samantha looked at me and smiled. “It’s a lot easier when you fall for them.”
She kissed me, and somehow, I already knew that many years later, as an old man looking back on my life, on all my negotiations and deals and dollars, that this, this one kiss on a front step on a cold day, this would be my greatest accomplishment.