The cozy coffee shop was humming with the quiet midmorning bustle of conversing coffee dates and remote workers typing away at laptops. In the back corner, a familiar face ensconced in curly locks and a thick red beard.
"Danny." Not the sharp cry of a press secretary selecting her next questioner; not a retort to a cutting remark. Just a name, but also a sigh of relief.
He looked the same. Maybe a few more wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. No suspenders, just a checked button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
"Hey, CJ."
The man was unshakable.
To hug? To kiss on the cheek? To shake hands would certainly be too stiff and proper. She settled for just sitting down across the small table.
"I got your coffee."
She judiciously eyed the glass of what appeared to be her favorite iced concoction with whipped cream on top — a rare girlish indulgence for the ever-businesslike Ms. CJ Cregg — and took a sip. "How did you know what I'd want?"
"Claudia Jean, we worked together for eight years, and you think I don't know your coffee order?"
"Well, you didn't know that Josh meant goldfish the cracker, so you can see how my confidence would be shaky."
He just smirked. "How've you been?"
"Oh, fine, you know, just working on a couple of PR contracts here and there."
"Here and there." Danny eyed her fingers twirling the straw in her glass, her knee jiggling, her slender frame tilted off-kilter to one side. "I asked how you were, not what you're doing. I know what you're doing."
She glanced up sharply. "Ever the investigative journalist, I see."
Danny shrugged.
CJ replied with a sigh, "I'm fine, I guess. Just fine. I miss the White House, if that's what you're saying."
"The 18-hour days?"
"That part not so much. I just miss the team."
"Yeah," Danny said. "Me too." His steady gaze didn't leave hers as he took a sip of his steaming mug of coffee.
The conversation continued, skirting around the edges of their lives, settling back into their customary playful banter. It felt natural after all these years, if not quite so fluid and a little more cautious.
"Do you remember the time I made a list of why we shouldn't date?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well, you told me that you made a list, and it turned out you didn't actually make one, so I just read off my piece of paper like an idiot?"
"Yeah, I remember that."
"It's just — I noticed that since I'm no longer the press secretary, and you're no longer one of my reporters, quite a few of the items on that list no longer apply."
Danny nodded in mock comprehension. "You know, I noticed that too. Do you think maybe we should do something about that?"
And they just looked at each other for a moment, searching, hopeful but guarded.
Danny stretched out a hand across the table. A beat, and then she took it.
"What's next?"