In September, the company landed a big project. Overtime became the norm.
One night past ten, I was the last one out. The elevator doors opened, and Valentine was inside.
"This late?" he asked.
"You're here this late too."
He smiled. "I live upstairs. Whether I'm working overtime or not, I leave around this time anyway."
The elevator descended. Floor by floor, neither of us spoke.
When we reached the lobby, I stepped out. He followed.
"Hey," he called after me. "Where do you live?"
I gave him the general area.
"That's pretty far. The subway's done running by now. How are you getting home?"
"I'll grab a cab."
He checked his phone. "Cabs are hard to get this late. Want me to give you a ride?"
"I'm fine."
"I'm not a creep." He smiled. "It's on my way. I'm just two stops past your place."
I hesitated.
"Come on," he said, already walking toward the parking lot. "It's late. Safety first."
That night, he drove me to the entrance of my apartment complex. He didn't ask for my number, didn't send me a friend request on social media. He just said, "See you tomorrow," and drove off.
I watched his taillights disappear around the corner. I stood there for a moment, then turned and went upstairs.
In early October, he added me on social media.
He'd found me through the work group chat. His display name just read "Valentine James."
I accepted.
His first message: "That night I drove you home—I didn't freak you out, did I?"
"No."
"Good. If you're ever working late, just let me know. I'm usually around."
I replied with a simple "Okay" and left it at that.
After that, whenever I stayed late, he'd occasionally text: "You done yet? I'm downstairs."
At first I turned him down. Then it became routine.
His car always smelled faintly of lemon, and he played music from bands I'd never heard of. We barely talked on the drive. When we arrived, he'd say, "Get some sleep," and pull away.
One night, before I got out, I asked him, "Why do you keep driving me home?"
He blinked, caught off guard. "It's on my way."
I looked at him.
His ears went red.
"Okay," he said, ducking his head. "It's not entirely on my way."
I didn't say anything. I got out of the car.
A few steps later, he called after me. "Lydia!"
I turned around.
"Can I... take you out? Like, pursue you?"
Under the streetlight, he stood beside his car, watching me with a nervous look on his face.
I thought about it. "My last relationship messed me up pretty badly."