I can’t explain why I notice these things about her. They’re fairly unimportant observations. In the grand scheme of life, knowing my coworker’s coffee order is filed under Things I Shouldn’t Care About. But somehow, with her, I do.

It’s fucking puzzling.

“I’m great, thank you. How are you?” The authenticity behind the question make me want to melt into a puddle. She’s just so nice, probably moonlighting as a theme park princess in her off-time as another outlet for her kindness.

I forget Emma and Noah know each other outside of these brief run-ins. She practices Civil Rights law, and the two have worked together on a few cases in the past. For a split second, I wonder if they’ve ever been romantically involved, sharing a more intimate relationship that goes beyond casual conversation, spilling over to cozy nights in restaurants and early morning coffee dates, holding hands as they walk down the sidewalk.

I subtly try to observe their body language. Did she lean in closer to hear him speak? Is he smiling brighter now that she’s here? Do her eyes sparkle like this all the time or only for certain people?

And what do I have to do to be one of them?

It’s also not my place to care, not my place to be emotionally invested in what these two might do after hours, not my place to give a single flying fuck, yet something twinges in my stomach, while my hand flexes with unwarranted vexation.

“A little tired with work stuff, but still awesome. Would you like to join us for lunch?” Noah asks, even though the question is futile. I already know her answer. Emma’s eyes go between the two of us in rapid succession, ping-ponging back and forth. She has yet to acknowledge me, and the glance is her first recognition I’m even standing here, taking up space as dutifully as a useless garden gnome.

“I appreciate the offer, but I have a salad in the fridge. You two have fun.” She waves, not giving me a second look, and heads for her office on the opposite side from mine.

“I wish I knew why she likes you but couldn’t care less about me,” I mumble, jabbing the button for the elevator, needing to get out of this building. I’m close to exploding. My chest hurts, and fresh sweat blooms under my shirt, moisture causing the fabric to cling to my skin.

“Because I’m not weird and obnoxious around her,” Noah replies brightly. He’s enjoying this, reveling in my misery. “I didn’t beat her out to be valedictorian. I also don’t visit her office specifically to annoy her. Oh! I d—”