Nora's first day at the Hartley Gallery was a blur of information overload and barely contained panic.
Rebecca walked her through the computer system (archaic and temperamental), the filing organization (chaotic at best), the artist database (incomplete and riddled with errors), and the phone protocol (answer by second ring, always confirm spelling of names, never promise anything without checking first).
By noon, Nora's head was spinning.
She'd taken notes. Pages of them. But her handwriting had devolved into illegible scrawl somewhere around the explanation of the consignment versus commission structure, and she was pretty sure she'd already forgotten half of what Rebecca had told her.
"Lunch," Rebecca announced at twelve-thirty, grabbing her purse. "I have a meeting with a potential donor. You should eat something. There's a café two blocks down—the turkey avocado is excellent. Back by two?"
"Sure. Yes. Two o'clock. I'll be here."
Rebecca smiled. "Relax, Nora. First days are always overwhelming. You're doing fine."
Then she was gone, leaving Nora alone in the gallery with the weight of her new responsibility and the growing certainty that she was going to screw this up spectacularly.
She grabbed her bag and headed outside.
The café Rebecca had mentioned was easy to find—corner location, chalkboard menu, the smell of fresh bread drifting onto the sidewalk. Nora ordered the turkey avocado, more because Rebecca had suggested it than because she was actually hungry.
Her stomach was too tied in knots. First day nerves. The conversation with Adrian this morning. The memory of last night—his mouth on hers, his hands gentle and desperate, the way he'd looked at her like she was something precious and dangerous in equal measure.
Then we deal with it. Together.
Had she really said that? Had she really called him a coward?
God, she had.
And she'd meant it.
Nora paid for her sandwich, found a small table by the window, and tried to eat. Made it through half before giving up.
This was harder than she'd expected. Not the job—though that was definitely harder than expected—but the Adrian situation. The wanting him while watching him torture himself. The knowing he wanted her back but couldn't let himself have it.
The waiting for him to decide if she was worth the risk.
Maybe she should've just let it go. Accepted the boundaries he kept trying to establish. Made peace with the fact that sometimes wanting someone wasn't enough.
But she couldn't.
Because she'd seen past his walls last night. Had felt him let go of the control for five perfect minutes. And she knew—bone-deep, certain—that what they could have was worth fighting for.
Even if she had to fight him to get it.
A shadow fell across her table.
Nora looked up, expecting the waitress with a refill.
Found Adrian instead.
He stood there in his work clothes—charcoal suit, white shirt, tie slightly loosened—holding a brown paper bag and looking uncertain in a way that made her chest ache.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi." She blinked. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought—" He held up the bag. "You might forget to eat. First day nerves and all. So I brought your favorite sandwich." He paused. "But I see you already have one."
She looked down at her half-eaten turkey avocado. Back up at him.
"What's my favorite sandwich?" she asked.
"Caprese. Extra basil. Light on the balsamic. From that Italian place in North Beach you mentioned once—two years ago at Victor's Christmas party. You said it was the best sandwich you'd ever had."
Nora's throat went tight.
He'd remembered. Not just that she liked caprese, but the specific place, the specific modifications, a throwaway comment from two years ago that she'd barely remembered making.
"You drove to North Beach," she said quietly. "During lunch. On a workday."
"It's not that far."
"Adrian—"
"I know you're nervous. I know first days are hard. I thought—" He shifted his weight, looking almost uncomfortable. "I thought you might need something familiar. Something that makes you happy. So."
He set the bag on her table. Started to leave.
"Wait," Nora said. "Sit with me?"
"I should get back to—"
"Please."
He hesitated. Then pulled out the chair across from her and sat.
Nora opened the bag. The sandwich was perfectly wrapped, still warm, smelling like fresh mozzarella and tomatoes and basil. Exactly as she remembered.
Her eyes burned.
"This is—" She had to stop. Swallow past the lump in her throat. "This is the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a long time."
"It's just a sandwich."
"No. It's not."
Their eyes met. Held.
It wasn't just a sandwich. It was proof that he paid attention. That he cared. That beneath all the walls and guilt and self-imposed distance, he was thinking about her. Wanting to take care of her in small ways because the big ways scared him too much.
"How's your first day going?" Adrian asked.
"Terrifying. Rebecca's wonderful but the systems are chaos and I'm pretty sure I've already forgotten everything she told me."
"You'll figure it out."
"That's what everyone keeps saying."
"Because it's true. You're smart, adaptable, detail-oriented. You'll be running that place in six months."
"I've been there four hours."
"Doesn't change the facts."
Despite everything, she smiled. "You have a lot of faith in me."
"Someone should."
"I have faith in myself. Most days."
"What about today?"
She considered. "Today I'm about sixty percent confident and forty percent convinced I'm going to accidentally destroy a priceless piece of art and get fired before the week is out."
"Reasonable ratio for a first day."
"Speaking from experience?"
"My first day working for Victor, I spilled coffee on a contract worth three million dollars."
Nora's eyes widened. "You didn't."
"I did. All over the signature page. Ruined it completely."
"What did Victor do?"
"Laughed. Told me to print another copy. Said if that was the worst mistake I made, he'd consider himself lucky." Adrian's expression softened with the memory. "He knew I was terrified. Knew I felt like I didn't belong in that world. So he made it okay to be imperfect."
"He's good at that."
"Yeah. He is."
The silence that followed was gentler than the ones that morning. Less fraught. Like they'd found a neutral space where they could just be—two people sharing lunch, talking about their days, pretending complexity didn't exist for a few minutes.
"I should let you eat," Adrian said, checking his watch. "And I have a two o'clock call."
"Thank you. Really. For the sandwich. For—" She gestured at him sitting there. "This."
"Anytime."
He stood. Hesitated.
"Nora? About this morning. What you said—"
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "You were right. About some of it. I am scared. Not of you, but of—screwing this up. Hurting you. Losing Victor. All of it." He met her eyes. "But you were also right that I keep making decisions for both of us. And that's not fair. So I'm—trying. To figure out how to do this without destroying everything."
Her heart kicked against her ribs. "And if you can't figure it out?"
"Then I guess we'll deal with it together."
He left before she could respond.
Nora sat there, surrounded by lunch rush noise and the smell of fresh basil, and felt something fragile and hopeful bloom in her chest.
It wasn't a declaration. Wasn't a promise.
But it was something.
When Nora returned to the gallery at 1:55, she found her coworker waiting.
Zara Chen was twenty-six, sharp-eyed, with asymmetrical hair dyed deep purple and the kind of effortless cool that Nora had never quite managed. She worked the front desk, managed social media, and apparently had a sixth sense for drama.
"So," Zara said, not looking up from her computer. "Who's the silver fox?"
Nora froze halfway through the door. "What?"
"The hot older guy who was waiting outside for twenty minutes before you came out for lunch. Tall. Great suit. Looked like he could buy this building with pocket change."
"I don't—how did you—"
"I was getting coffee. Saw him through the window at that café. Saw you see him. Saw the way you looked at each other." Zara finally glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "You gonna tell me that's nobody?"
"He's—" Nora's mind scrambled for a plausible explanation. "Nobody. Just—a friend. Of my guardian's. He was in the neighborhood."
"Uh-huh. And does this friend of your guardian always bring you lunch with that kind of intensity?"
"It wasn't intense."
"Girl. I saw his face. That was intense."
Nora felt heat flood her cheeks. "Can we not—it's my first day. Can we please not dissect my personal life?"
Zara's expression softened. "Fair. But for the record? If nobody looks at me the way Silver Fox was looking at you through that window, I'm dying alone with seventeen cats."
"His name is Adrian."
"And?"
"And nothing. It's complicated."
"The good ones always are." Zara turned back to her computer, clearly filing this information away for later interrogation. "Congrats on the sandwich, by the way. Caprese from Lucca's? That's like a forty-minute round trip in lunch traffic. Man's committed."
Nora didn't have a response to that.
Because Zara was right. Adrian had driven forty minutes in the middle of a workday to bring her a sandwich she'd mentioned liking two years ago.
That wasn't nothing.
That was everything.
The rest of the day passed in a caffeine-fueled haze of learning and note-taking and trying not to think about Adrian.
She failed spectacularly at the last part.
Every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped. But it was never him—just Zara sending memes, Rebecca checking in, her college friend asking how the first day went.
By five o'clock, Nora was exhausted and wired simultaneously.
Rebecca sent her home with a smile and instructions to rest. "Tomorrow we'll dive into the upcoming exhibition. Get some sleep. You did great today."
Nora wasn't sure she believed that, but she appreciated the encouragement.
The Uber ride home took thirty minutes in rush hour traffic. She spent it staring out the window, watching the city slide by, thinking about Adrian's face when he'd said I'm trying.
The estate was quiet when she arrived.
Adrian's car was in the driveway. Lights on in Victor's office.
Nora dropped her bag in the foyer, kicked off her shoes, and stood there trying to decide if she should go talk to him or give him space or—
Her phone buzzed.
Text from Adrian: How was the rest of your day?
She smiled despite herself.
Survived. Didn't break anything priceless.
That's a win.
Rebecca says I did great. I think she's being nice.
Rebecca's not known for being nice. If she said you did great, you did great.
Nora started typing a response, then stopped.
Deleted it.
Walked down the hallway to Victor's office instead.
The door was open. Adrian sat at the desk, laptop glowing, phone to his ear, deep in conversation. He saw her, held up one finger—one minute—and wrapped up the call.
"Hey," he said, setting down the phone. "I was just texting you."
"I know. I thought—in person seemed better."
"How was the rest of your day?"
"Good. Overwhelming. My brain feels like mush." She leaned against the doorframe. "But good. Really good."
"I'm glad."
"Thank you. Again. For lunch. It helped more than you know."
"You already thanked me."
"I'm thanking you again."
He smiled. That small, rare smile that transformed his whole face. "You're welcome. Again."
The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable, just—full. Of things unsaid, things half-acknowledged, the fragile truce they'd established over caprese sandwiches and honesty.
"I should let you work," Nora said finally.
"I should probably work, yes."
But neither of them moved.
"Adrian?"
"Yeah?"
"Earlier. When you said you were trying to figure this out—did you mean it?"
His expression grew serious. "Every word."
"Okay. Good." She pushed off the doorframe. "I can wait. While you figure it out. I'm not going anywhere."
"Nora—"
"I know it's complicated. I know there's no easy answer. But I meant what I said this morning too. We deal with it together. Or we don't deal with it at all."
She left before he could respond.
But as she climbed the stairs to her room, she heard him say quietly, "Together. Yeah. Okay."
It was enough.
For now, it was enough.