Page 26 of The Spark Between Us

One month of sneaking around like teenagers, all while falling deeper for Ellie with each passing day.

It can't continue like this. I know it, and Ellie knows it too. We agreed last night, tangled in the sheets of my bed, her head resting on my chest: it's time to tell Brock.

Which is why I'm standing outside his office at 7 AM, a full hour before our shift officially starts, my heart hammering against my ribs like I'm about to run into a five-alarm fire without protective gear.

I knock, two sharp raps that sound unnaturally loud in the quiet corridor.

"Come in," Brock calls.

He's at his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose as he reviews what appear to be equipment requisition forms. Just another ordinary morning for him. Possibly the last ordinary interaction between us, depending on how this conversation goes.

"Grant," he says, looking up with a smile. "You're in early."

"Need to talk to you about something," I reply, my voice steadier than I expected. "Got a minute?"

"For you? Always." He gestures to the chair across from his desk. "Everything okay?"

I close the door behind me and take a seat, trying to decide how to begin. I've rehearsed this speech a dozen times, but now that I'm here, the words abandon me.

"There's something I need to tell you," I start, meeting his eyes directly. Years of friendship, of trust earned in the most dangerous circumstances imaginable—I owe him that much. "It's about Ellie."

Something shifts in Brock's expression—not surprise, exactly, but a focused attention. He removes his reading glasses, setting them on the desk. "Is she alright?"

"She's great," I assure him quickly. "This isn't—she's not in any trouble."

"Okay," he says, leaning back in his chair. "I'm listening."

I take a deep breath. "Ellie and I... we've been seeing each other. Romantically." The words hang in the air between us, irretrievable. "For about a month now."

Brock's face remains impassive, giving nothing away. The silence stretches for what feels like hours but is probably only seconds.

"We wanted to tell you sooner," I continue, filling the silence with nervous energy. "But we needed time to figure things out ourselves first. To make sure this was... real."

"And is it?" Brock asks, his voice neutral. "Real?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation. "We're taking things slowly, being careful. But I'm absolutely sure about how I feel about her."

Brock stares at me for a long moment, then does something completely unexpected. He smiles.

"Finally," he says, shaking his head slightly. "I was beginning to think you two would sneak around forever."

I blink, certain I've misheard him. "You... knew?"

He chuckles, the tension in the room dissipating like smoke. "Grant, I've known you for fifteen years. Did you really think I wouldn't notice when you suddenly started accepting every dinner invitation? Or how my daughter's face lights up whenever your name is mentioned? Or how it takes you two thirty minutes to wash dishes that should take ten?"

I'm momentarily speechless, caught completely off guard. All this time, all the careful secrecy, the anxiety about his reaction—and he already knew?

"Why didn't you say anything?" I finally manage to ask.

Brock shrugs, his expression softening. "Wasn't my place. I figured you'd tell me when you were ready. When you were sure."

"And you're... okay with this?" I ask cautiously, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. "With me and Ellie?"

"Would it matter if I wasn't?" he counters, a knowing look in his eyes.

I consider this carefully. "Yes," I say honestly. "It would matter. Your friendship, your respect—they're important to me. But..." I hesitate, then commit to the truth. "But they wouldn't change how I feel about Ellie."

Brock nods, seemingly satisfied with my answer. "Good. Because that's exactly what I wanted to hear."

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