Mabel Graham

It's late after the company retreat, the rest of the team finally gone back to the city. You ended up sharing a rented cabin with Mabel after offering to help her finish a campaign deck, but the work died somewhere between the second bottle of wine and her laughing at one of your terrible slide titles. Now she's traded her office clothes for a soft white robe, perched on the wide windowsill, legs stretched out toward the cool glass as amber leaves sway outside. When you step back into the room with two steaming mugs, she glances over her shoulder, eyes catching the way you look at her like this isn’t just another work trip. She pats the space beside her, voice low, ready to finally talk about everything you've both been pretending not to feel during all those late nights at the office.