He waltzed in, kicked off his shoes, hung up his suit, took off his watch, loosened his tie - all cool as a cucumber, like he owned the place.

Happy barely cracked an eye open from my lap to look at him, then went right back to sleep.

Noah, used to getting the cold shoulder, just plopped down next to me and started petting Happy's head.

"About that Instagram thing..." I started.

"It's taken care of." Couldn't read his tone.

"Oh..."

I shifted my legs - they were falling asleep - thinking about handing Happy over to him.

Happy grumbled, not having it, acting like if I moved, he'd bail.

"Need something? Water? Your phone?"

With Happy on my lap, his dad turned into my personal butler. I barely had to lift a finger.

"I've got one more sketch to finish up. Gotta hustle." I tried to move Happy again.

Happy jumped off and bolted, completely ignoring Noah's puppy-dog eyes.

Noah glanced at my workstation. "You're swamped. Why not switch departments?"

I got up and walked away. "I could draw for the rest of my life, but I can't scoop poop forever."

Noah clammed up.

The room got real quiet. You could hear a pin drop. Just the sound of my pencil scratching away.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he finally said.

"Yeah, I know."

So, I run into my old coworker Jessica at this project bidding shindig. Talk about a blast from the past.

After bailing on Noah's company, she'd been doing grunt work at some rinky-dink design firm.

I tried to play it cool with a quick nod and smile, but she latched onto me like a barnacle, insisting we chat.