The low hum of laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the buzz of conversation filled the cozy corner of the pub. Francine leaned back against the wooden booth, the cool glass of beer in her hand already sweating from the warmth inside. Across from her sat Charlie—familiar, easy-going, with the same mischievous grin he’d had since they were kids.
“So,” Charlie began, tearing into a piece of fried chicken, “what happened at school? You sounded like you needed a drink the moment you texted.”
Francine gave a soft laugh, but there was no joy in it. She swirled her glass before answering. “The new department head caught me staying late. I didn’t think much of it at first, but…” She paused, her fingers tightening around the rim. “There’s something about him, Charlie. Sir Clifford Sable. He’s… different.”
Charlie raised a brow, intrigued. “Different how? ‘Different’ as in ‘he makes you nervous,’ or ‘different’ as in ‘he makes you feel things you’re not supposed to feel about a boss’?”
Francine chuckled despite herself. “Maybe both.” She took a long sip of her beer. “We ended up driving around the city. Dinner, a walk, just… talking. And I know it’s ridiculous, but for a moment, it felt easy. Like there were no titles, no pressure. Just two people getting to know each other.”
Charlie studied her, his playful tone softening. “So what’s the problem?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know. It’s like I want to keep it professional, but something about him makes it hard. And it’s been so long since I’ve let anyone in. After everything… I just don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
Silence settled for a beat, heavy with unspoken things.
“Sounds like he made an impression,” Charlie said finally, wiping his hands with a napkin. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
Francine tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Alright, your turn. How’s the pharmacy?”
Charlie’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Surviving. Barely. Between the endless paperwork and trying to keep inventory in check, I sometimes forget I’m a pharmacist and not a full-time firefighter. I’m always putting out fires.”
Francine laughed, the sound light and genuine this time. “And your brother? How’s he doing?”
Charlie’s expression softened. “He’s good. Growing too fast. Just started college. I still see the kid who used to beg me to play hide-and-seek after school. Now he’s taller than me and has a deeper voice. Makes me feel ancient.”
Francine leaned her cheek on her palm, watching him. “We really are getting old, huh?”
“Nah,” Charlie said with a grin. “We’re just getting better at pretending we have everything figured out.”
They both laughed, the kind of laugh only old friends can share—comfortable, raw, unfiltered. There was something healing in it, something grounding.
And for the first time in a while, Francine didn’t feel lost. Just human.
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