It was 8:30 on a Monday morning in Manhattan, and the line at Starbucks stretched nearly to the door. Sarah Williams tapped her heel impatiently, checking her watch for the third time in 2 minutes. The quarterly board meeting started in 40 minutes, and she needed that caffeine.
When she finally reached the counter and handed over her corporate card, the barista swiped it twice before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s being declined.” Sarah froze, aware of the irritated size behind her. That’s when a deep voice spoke. I’ve got it. A tall man in a security guard uniform placed a 20 on the counter. Add a black coffee, too, please.
Their eyes met briefly, something oddly familiar passing between them. Neither knew what the universe had orchestrated. She didn’t know he was Michael Johnson, the brilliant engineer whose resume she had personally rejected three days ago. He didn’t know she was Sarah Williams, CEO of Techvision, Inc., the company that had deemed his three-year employment gap too risky to consider.
Michael Johnson hadn’t always worn a security uniform. Three years ago, he’d been a senior software engineer at Google with two patents to his name and a corner office overlooking the San Francisco Bay. His code had helped build systems used by millions. Back then, his mornings had involved strategy meetings and debugging sessions, not checking IDs at a Midtown office building.

But that was before the accident. The rain sllicked highway, the truck that couldn’t stop in time, the phone call that changed everything. His wife Emma and four-year-old daughter Lily gone in an instant. For months after, Michael couldn’t write a single line of code.
couldn’t even look at a computer screen without seeing Emma’s last text message. We’re on our way home. Love you. He had fallen apart completely, shutting down his life to focus solely on his surviving child, 10-year-old Jake, who stopped speaking for nearly 6 months after losing his mother and sister. They moved across the country from California to New York, away from the memories embedded in every corner of their old home.
Michael took the security job because it offered stability, predictable hours, and health insurance for Jake’s therapy. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills while giving him the emotional space to rebuild their shattered lives. He had only recently felt ready to return to the tech world. When he saw the opening at Techvision, it seemed perfect.
Innovative work, decent salary, and only 15 minutes from Jake’s school. He spent nights polishing his resume, updating his skills, preparing for technical interviews. The rejection email had been brief, impersonal. We regret to inform you that we’ve decided to pursue other candidates whose experience better aligns with our current needs.
Sarah Williams had built Tech Vision from her MIT dorm room 7 years ago. At 34, she had already been featured in Forbes’s 30 under 30, grown her company to 300 employees, and secured 95 million in series C funding. On paper, her life was a stunning success. The reality was more complicated.
Success had brought isolation. 80our work weeks left little time for relationships. Her last date had spent the entire evening asking about potential investment opportunities rather than asking about her. As one of the few female CEOs in tech, she faced constant scrutiny. Too harsh, too soft, too emotional, too cold. Everything she did was analyzed through multiple lenses, none of them particularly fair.
She had cultivated a carefully controlled exterior, tailored suits, perfect posture, measured speech. Few people saw the woman who sometimes cried in her office after particularly brutal board meetings, who kept a photo of her late parents hidden in her desk drawer, who sometimes wondered if success was worth the sacrifice of everything else.

The morning after the coffee shop encounter, Sarah sat at her glass desk reviewing quarterly projections when her assistant Jessica knocked and entered. “The HR reports you asked for,” she said, placing a folder on the desk. 50 candidates rejected in preliminary screening. Sarah nodded absently, flipping through the pages.
She stopped suddenly at a familiar name. Michael Johnson. Why did that sound familiar? The security guard. The coffee. She examined the resume more closely. Former Google engineer with an impressive technical background, multiple patents, excellent recommendations from previous supervisors.
but a three-year gap in employment marked in red by a she pulled up the digital file on her computer. Scrolling to the notes section, candidate has unexplained three-year employment gap. When pressed, mentioned family circumstances, potential flight risk if personal issues resurface. Not recommended for further consideration. Something about the dismissive tone bothered her.
She opened a new browser tab and typed Michael Johnson, Google engineer. Several old articles appeared about innovative security protocols he had developed. Then a more recent headline caught her eye. Tech engineer loses wife and daughter in tragic highway accident. The article was brief but devastating. A rainy night, a jack knife semitr, two lives lost instantly.
The surviving husband and son not available for comment. A colleague described Michael as one of the brightest minds in the industry and a devoted family man. Sarah sat back in her chair, the pieces clicking into place. The employment gap wasn’t about job hopping or lack of commitment. It was about a man putting his surviving child first after unimaginable loss.
A man who had stopped his career to rebuild a broken family. a man who now worked as a security guard, but still had enough kindness to buy coffee for a stranger in a moment of need. She reached for her phone and called HR. Find me the contact information for Michael Johnson and cancel my 2:00. Michael was checking IDs at the front desk when his phone vibrated with an unknown number.
He ignored it until his break when he listened to the voicemail. Mr. Johnson, this is Jessica Patel from Techvision. Our CEO would like to meet with you this afternoon at 4:00 if you’re available. Please call me back to confirm. He stared at the phone in confusion.

Had he left something at the coffee shop? Was this about his rejected application? Either way, curiosity won out. He called back and confirmed the appointment. At precisely 4:00, Michael entered the sleek Tech Vision headquarters. The receptionist led him to the top floor where he was surprised to see the woman from Starbucks waiting in a corner office with Florida ceiling windows overlooking the city. Mr. Johnson, thank you for coming, she said, extending her hand. I’m Sarah Williams.
Recognition dawned on his face. The coffee shop. I didn’t realize you were the CEO who rejected your application. She finished with a small smile. Please sit down. Michael settled into the chair across from her desk, his posture straight but relaxed. Years of loss had taught him that few things in business were truly life or death. I reviewed your resume again, Sarah began.
Your technical qualifications are exceptional. But there’s a three-year gap in your employment history that concerned our HR department. I see. His voice remained neutral. And now, now I’d like to hear the real story from you, not what you think a potential employer wants to hear, the truth. Michael took a deep breath.
3 years ago, I lost my wife and younger daughter in a car accident. My son Jake was 10. He stopped talking, stopped eating, stopped doing much of anything. I took a leave of absence that turned into a resignation. We moved here for a fresh start. The security job isn’t glamorous, but it gave us stability while Jake recovered.
Why didn’t you mention this in your interview? Because I don’t want to be hired out of pity, he said firmly. I don’t want to be the sad story around the office. I want to be judged on my skills and what I can contribute. Sarah nodded. I understand that, but that gap was judged negatively without context. Life is messy, Michael said.
Career trajectories aren’t always clean. I made a choice to prioritize my son and I would make it again in a heartbeat. Any company that can’t understand that probably isn’t a company I want to work for anyway. His honesty surprised her. Most candidates would be desperately trying to sell themselves.
What if I told you we have an opening on our security infrastructure team? She asked. Senior position leading a small group developing our next generation authentication system. I’d ask why you’re suddenly interested in me when I was rejected 3 days ago. Sarah smiled. Let’s just say I recognize when the algorithm makes a mistake. The question is, are you interested? Michael considered for a moment.
I am, but I have non-negotiables. I pick my son up from school 3 days a week. I don’t miss his therapy appointments. I can work late after he’s in bed, but those daytime hours are sacred. We can accommodate that. She slid a folder across the desk. Here’s the job description and compensation package. Take it home. Think about it.
Let me know by Friday. As Michael reached for the folder, he asked the question that had been nagging at him. Why are you doing this? Is it because I bought you coffee? Sarah laughed softly. Maybe partly, but mostly because I think we missed something important in our evaluation. I’d like to correct that mistake.
As he stood to leave, Michael said, “For what it’s worth, Ms. Williams, I don’t need charity. If I take this job, I’ll earn my place.” “I’m counting on it,” she replied. “And please call me Sarah.” The news spread quickly throughout Techvision’s offices. The CEO had personally hired a new senior engineer, bypassing normal protocols. The rumors flew. They knew each other from college.
He had dirt on the company they were secretly dating. Michael heard the whispers his first day as he was shown to his new office, but he kept his head down and focused on the work. The security infrastructure team was struggling with a critical authentication bug that had stalled their latest release.
Michael spent his first week quietly learning the system, reviewing code, and asking careful questions. By Friday, he had identified the issue, a subtle race condition in the authentication protocol that only appeared under specific circumstances. It’s been driving us crazy for weeks, admitted Raj, a younger engineer on the team. How did you spot it so quickly? I ran into something similar at Google, Michael explained, walking Raj through his solution.
The key is understanding how these threads interact under load conditions. Word of his technical abilities began to replace the gossip. When the senior leadership meeting arrived the following week, Michael found himself presenting his team’s progress to the entire executive staff, including Sarah. He spoke clearly and confidently, explaining complex technical concepts in ways non-engineers could understand.
When he finished, he noticed Sarah nodding slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Good work,” she said simply before moving on to the next agenda item. But later, as everyone filed out, she paused by his chair. “I chose the right person,” she said quietly before continuing on her way.
Over the next few weeks, Michael settled into a routine, dropped Jake at school, head to Techvision, pick Jake up three afternoons a week, worked remotely in the evenings after bedtime. His team began to respect his technical skills and his straightforward leadership style. If anyone still wondered about his connection to Sarah, they kept it to themselves.
Sarah, meanwhile, found herself curious about the quiet engineer who had once bought her coffee. She noticed small things. How he always stopped to help the interns. How he gave credit to his team members during meetings. How he kept a photo of a young boy on his desk, but no other personal items. Occasionally, their paths crossed in the office kitchen or hallways.
Their exchanges were brief, professional, but with an undercurrent of something neither could quite name. Then came the morning Sarah arrived to find a paper cup on her desk. Chamomile tea still hot with a simple note, sometimes better than coffee for stress. Matt, she had mentioned her stress headaches exactly once during a passing conversation in the elevator 2 days earlier.
The fact that he had remembered and acted with such a small kindness touched her in unexpected ways. The next day, after a particularly late night working on quarterly projections, Sarah arrived to find another cup waiting. This became their unspoken ritual. Michael arriving early enough to leave tea before anyone else was in the office.
Sarah finding the small comfort waiting for her. Never mentioned, never acknowledged, but deeply appreciated. One evening, working late, Sarah heard voices from the breakroom. Michael sat with a young boy helping him with homework spread across the table. Jake, she realized the son he had restructured his life around. Ms. Williams, Michael said standing when he noticed her.
Sorry, the babysitter canled and we have a deadline tomorrow. Please don’t apologize. She smiled at Jake. You must be the famous Jake. Your dad talks about you all the time. The boy looked up, studying her with serious eyes, so like his father’s. You’re the boss lady, the one who gives dad the hard projects. Sarah laughed.
Guilty is charged, but only because he’s so good at solving them. Later, as Jake focused on his math problems, Sarah and Michael talked quietly about the project timeline. As she turned to leave, she hesitated, then said, “Bring him in anytime, Michael. We’re not that formal here.” “Thank you,” he said. and the gratitude in his eyes warm something long cold within her.
Their connection deepened gradually through small moments rather than grand gestures. Sarah noticed how Michael always made sure new team members felt welcome. Michael observed how Sarah fought for her employees during budget discussions. They began to see past the CEO and the engineer to the people beneath the titles.
The crisis came three months after Michael joined Techvision. A major investor, Thomas Blackwell, had questioned the company’s direction during the quarterly board meeting, specifically criticizing the authentication project as overbudget and underperforming. His real target, however, was Sarah’s leadership.
Perhaps we need a stronger hand at the wheel, he suggested, the implication clear. Someone with more traditional business experience. The room tensed. Everyone knew what traditional meant in this context. male. Sarah kept her expression neutral, though her knuckles whitened around her pen. “The authentication system is foundational to our entire security model,” she responded evenly.
“We’re being deliberate because we have to get it right.” “Your engineer, Johnson,” Blackwell continued. “The one you personally hired outside normal channels.” “Rumor has it he was working security before this. Is Techvision now a charity for down on the luck cases?” Before Sarah could respond, Michael, who had been quietly taking notes in the corner, stood. Mr.
Blackwell, I was indeed working security before joining Techvision. Before that, I spent 12 years at Google leading their authentication protocols team. He walked to the presentation screen and pulled up a series of charts. These are the current benchmarks for our authentication system compared to industry standards.
We’re already 30% more secure with 15% less latency and we haven’t even implemented the final protocol enhancements. For the next 10 minutes, he walked the board through the technical achievements, the market advantages, and the projected revenue impacts. He never directly addressed Blackwell’s insinuations about Sarah’s leadership or his own background. He didn’t need to.
The numbers spoke for themselves. When he finished, Blackwell had no choice but to nod grudgingly. Impressive work. As the meeting adjourned, Sarah caught Michael’s eye across the room. Something shifted between them, a recognition and understanding. He hadn’t just defended the project. He had defended her. Not with angry words or male posturing, but with competence and dignity.
That evening, as most employees had left, Sarah found Michael in his office, still working. She closed the door behind her. Thank you for today. He looked up from his computer. I didn’t do anything special. Just presented the facts. You and I both know it was more than that. She sat in the chair across from his desk. You could have thrown me under the bus, cozied up to Blackwell. Plenty would have in your position. Michael shook his head.
That’s not who I am. I know that now. She hesitated. Can I ask you something personal? How did you do it after your wife and daughter? How did you keep going? His eyes softened. One day at a time. For a while, just getting out of bed and making Jake breakfast was all I could manage. Then gradually, step by step, we built a new normal.
Not better, not worse, just different. I lost my parents in college, Sarah said quietly. Car accident like your family. Not many people know that. I threw myself into coding, into building tech vision. Never really dealt with it. It’s never too late to start, he said gently. They talked for hours that night about grief and healing, about parenting and pressure, about the masks they wore and the people they were beneath them. When Sarah finally looked at her watch, it was past midnight.
I should go, she said, rising reluctantly. At the door, Michael handed her a small paper bag. Chamomile tea bags for home. The world can wait sometime, Sarah. It was the first time he had used her first name. She took the bag, their fingers brushing. Thank you, Michael. Something changed after that night.
Their professional relationship remained appropriate, but there was a new understanding between them, a deeper connection. Sarah found herself looking forward to their brief interactions throughout the day. Michael began leaving small notes with the tea, observations about the day ahead, quotes that made him think of her, once even a small origami crane that Jake had made for the boss lady. They were careful, both acutely aware of their positions within the company.
But the walls they had built around themselves slowly lowered. Sarah joined Michael and Jake for lunch in the park one Saturday, bringing a kite that delighted the boy. Michael helped Sarah prepare for a difficult investor presentation, offering perspective that eased her anxiety.
Neither pushed for more, content to let whatever was developing between them unfold naturally. Both had experienced profound loss. Both understood the value of patience. During a company hackathon, Sarah watched from the doorway as Michael worked alongside his team, sleeves rolled up, focused intently on the problem at hand.
When he looked up and caught her watching, his smile made her heart skip. Later that night, as teams presented their projects, Michael’s group won first place for an innovative security protocol. When he accepted the award, his eyes found hers in the crowd, a private moment of connection amid the public celebration. The next morning, he found a small gift wrapped package on his desk.
Inside was a vintage pocket watch with an inscription, for the moments that matter. SW. It wasn’t his birthday. It wasn’t any special occasion. It was simply an acknowledgement of something growing between them. Something neither had yet found the words to name. “Jake was the first to notice. You smile different when you talk about her,” he told his father one evening as they walked home from the subway.
“Like how you used to smile in the old pictures with mom.” Michael stopped walking, looking down at his perceptive son. “Does that bother you?” Jake considered the question with the seriousness only children can bring to important matters. Mom would want you to be happy, he said finally. And Sarah makes you laugh. You didn’t laugh for a long time.
From the mouths of babes, Michael thought, wrapping an arm around Jake’s shoulders as they continued home. For Sarah, the realization came more gradually. She noticed how she looked for Michael in meetings, how her day felt incomplete without their brief interactions, how she found herself sharing thoughts with him she’d never voiced to anyone else.
One night, working late in her office, she caught herself smiling at a note he’d left with her morning tea. In case of emergency, breathe, drink tea, remember you’ve got this. It was such a small thing, yet it encompassed everything she was beginning to feel. the sense that finally after years of standing alone, someone was standing beside her.
Not because of her position or her accomplishments, but because of who she was beneath all that. Winter arrived, bringing with it the holiday season. The Tech Vision office filled with subtle decorations and planning for the annual holiday party. Sarah overheard Michael telling Raj he wouldn’t attend. Jake’s school concert was the same night. Without thinking twice, Sarah rescheduled the company party. When Michael questioned the change, she shrugged casually.
“Venue conflict,” she said. But the look in her eyes told him she wasn’t being entirely truthful. On the night of Jake’s concert, as the children’s choir finished their final song, Michael was surprised to see Sarah slip quietly into the back of the auditorium. She hadn’t said she was coming. He hadn’t asked.
Yet there she was, applauding with genuine enthusiasm as Jake took his small bow. Afterward, as parents and children mingled over cookies and punch, Sarah hung back, uncertain of her place in this aspect of Michael’s life. But Jake spotted her, rushing over to grab her hand and pull her forward. “Did you hear me? I had a solo.
” “I did,” she said, her smile warm and real. “You were amazing.” Michael watched them, his heart full in a way he hadn’t thought possible again. As Jake ran off to talk to a friend, Michael stepped closer to Sarah. “You didn’t have to come. I wanted to,” she said simply. And in those three words was everything.
Acknowledgement of what was happening between them, a step across the careful boundary they’d maintained, a choice being made. The company holiday party, rescheduled for the following week, became a turning point. Michael arrived with Jake, both in suits that made Sarah smile when she saw them. As the evening progressed, employees noticed how their CEO’s eyes kept finding the engineer across the room.
How they gravitated toward each other in every conversation group, how something unspoken passed between them when they thought no one was watching. “So,” Jessica said, sidling up to Sarah by the dessert table. “You and Johnson?” Sarah started to deny it, then stopped herself. “Is it that obvious?” “Only to anyone with eyes,” Jessica replied with a smile. “For what it’s worth, the office is rooting for you two.
” As the party wound down, a light snow began falling over the city. Sarah found Michael and Jake by the coat check. “Share a cab?” she asked. The three of them rode through snowdusted Manhattan streets, Jake falling asleep against Michael’s shoulder. When they reached Sarah’s building, Michael walked her to the door.
Jake waiting sleepily in the cab. “Thank you for coming tonight,” she said, snowflakes catching in her hair. Wouldn’t have missed it. His voice was soft in the quiet night. They stood there, snow falling around them, the moment suspended between what had been and what could be.
Then Sarah rose on her toes and kissed him briefly but with unmistakable intention. “Merry Christmas, Michael,” she whispered against his lips. He caught her hand as she turned to go. “Sarah, just her name, but filled with promise. We should talk tomorrow.” She nodded, squeezing his hand before letting go. “Tomorrow? Tomorrow became the first of many days. They no longer pretended they were just CEO and employee.
They moved cautiously at first, mindful of the complications. Sarah consulted with the board about the relationship, ensuring transparency. Michael was equally transparent with his team. There were raised eyebrows certainly, but also a surprising amount of support. You two make sense, Raj told Michael one day.
Like individually, you’re both impressive, but together kind of unstoppable. Spring arrived, bringing with it the one-year anniversary of Michael joining Techvision. The authentication system launched a critical acclaim, setting new industry standards. At the celebration dinner, Sarah announced his promotion to chief technology officer, a decision unanimously supported by the board.
even Blackwell, who had become one of Michael’s strongest advocates after seeing the market response to their security protocols. That night, after the celebration, Michael took Sarah to the roof of his apartment building. Jake was at a sleepover, and the city spread out before them like a carpet of lights. “I have something for you,” he said, handing her a small velvet box.
It wasn’t a ring. They had agreed they weren’t ready for that step yet. Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a small key pendant. It’s beautiful, she said as he fastened it around her neck. But what does the key open? Michael smiled. Nothing literal. It’s a reminder that you unlock something in me I thought was gone forever.
The ability to imagine a future again. Sarah touched the pendant, her eyes bright with unshed tears. You did the same for me. I was so focused on building something successful. I forgot to build something meaningful. Later that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, Michael asked the question that had been on his mind.
Any regrets about us? About how complicated this makes things at work? Sarah propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him in the dim light. My only regret is that it took a declined credit card for us to find each other. Summer brought a new challenge, a potential acquisition offer that would mean enormous growth for Techvision, but also significant changes to the company culture.
Sarah agonized over the decision, spending long nights weighing options, running projections. Michael gave her space when she needed it, but also perspective. Whatever you decide, he told her one night as they walked along the Hudson. You’re not alone in this anymore. Those words, so simple yet so profound, settled something in Sarah.
The next day, she turned down the acquisition offer, instead presenting the board with an alternative growth strategy, one that preserved their independence and values while still expanding their market reach. It’s riskier, she acknowledged. But I believe in this company, in what we’re building, in who we are. The plan was approved and in the following months proved to be the right decision as Techvision secured major new clients drawn to their innovative approach and strong ethical stance.
Fall came again and with it the annual industry gayla celebrating innovation in technology. Techvision was nominated for multiple awards including recognition for their second door initiative which had already brought 15 exceptional employees to the company. people whose nonlinear career paths had previously been obstacles rather than assets.
On the night of the gala, as they prepared to leave for the event, Jake presented Sarah with a handmade card. “Dad said, tonight’s a big deal for you,” he explained. “I wanted to say good luck.” Sarah knelt to hug him, this child who had become so dear to her. “Thank you, Jake. That means a lot.” The boy hesitated, then added, “You know, if you guys get married someday, that would be okay with me.
” Sarah laughed, catching Michael’s eye over Jake’s head. Good to know. We’ll keep that under advisement. At the gala, Tech Vision swept the awards, culminating in Sarah being named innovator of the year. As she took the stage, she looked out at the crowd, finding Michael’s face immediately.
“Innovation isn’t just about technology,” she said in her acceptance speech. It’s about how we see the world and each other. Sometimes the most innovative thing we can do is look beyond the obvious, beyond the resume, beyond the gap in employment to see the potential and resilience in people. She spoke about the second door initiative, about how it had transformed Techvision’s culture and capabilities.
Without naming Michael specifically, everyone who knew them understood he had been the inspiration, the first person through that second door. We all face moments when doors close, she concluded. The true measure of innovation in technology, in business, in life, is our ability to create new doors where none existed before. The applause was thunderous.
As Sarah left the stage, Michael met her at the bottom of the steps, pride evident in every line of his face. “Impressive speech, Miss Williams,” he said, eyes twinkling. “I had good material to work with, Mr. Johnson,” she replied. Later, as the celebration continued around them, they slipped away, walking the few blocks to the Starbucks where they had first met.
It was closed for the night, dark and quiet, but they stood outside, looking in through the windows. “It’s been exactly one year,” Michael said. “Since your card was declined and I bought you that coffee.” “Best $4 you ever spent?” Sarah asked, leaning into his side. Best $4 dollars anyone ever spent. He turned to face her, taking both her hands in his.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what Jake said earlier, about us getting married someday. Sarah’s breath caught. Have you? I have. His eyes never left hers. I’m not proposing. Not yet. We have time. But I want you to know that’s where I’m heading. Where I hope we’re heading. The three of us together. Sarah felt tears prick her eyes. I’d like that very much.
Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit card. Her credit card, the one that had been declined that fateful morning. You left this at the office, he explained. But it got me thinking. What if it hadn’t been declined? What if we’d never spoken that day? But it was, she said softly. And we did. And now here we are.
He slipped the card into her evening bag. Some might call it coincidence. “I call it the best mistake a credit card company ever made,” Sarah replied, wrapping her arms around his neck. As they stood there embracing, a light rain began to fall, not unlike the rain that had fallen the night Michael’s life had shattered 3 years earlier. But this rain felt different.
Cleansing, renewing, a symbol of how life could circle back to joy even after the deepest pain. Did we go home? Sarah asked. Jake will be waiting up for news about the awards. Home. Such a simple word, yet so profound in its implications. Not her apartment or his, but the concept of home they were building together.
The three of them forging a new family from the fragments of what had been broken. “Yes,” Michael said, taking her hand as they walked toward the street to hail a cab. “Let’s go home.” The following Monday morning, Sarah walked into that same Starbucks, Michael beside her. They ordered their usual drinks, her latte, his black coffee.
When she reached for her card, he placed his hand over hers. “Just in case,” he said with a smile, sliding his own card across the counter. But this time, her card worked perfectly. As they walked out together, coffee in hand, ready to face the day side by side, Sarah thought about all the broken things that had somehow led them here.
A declined card, a tragic accident, a rejected resume. “How the universe sometimes shattered what was to make room for what could be.” “What are you thinking about?” Michael asked, noticing her thoughtful expression. Sarah took his hand, squeezing it gently. Just that it was never really about the coffee.
Michael smiled, understanding completely. No, he agreed.