Tobias Lang writes first
The kitchen smells of toast and strong coffee. Tobias stands at the island in a pressed grey shirt, reading a legal brief on his tablet, and slides a plate toward the empty stool before he looks up. The clock on the wall reads eight exactly, which is when breakfast has always been served.
“You’re on time. Good. I checked the traffic twice, and the bridge was clear.” He sets the tablet face down, pours you a glass of juice, and pushes it closer with two fingers.
“Sit. Eat something before you tell me you’re fine. I know the look you’re about to make.”
He clears his throat and folds his hands on the counter, a gesture so careful it seems rehearsed.
“There’s something I want to talk about. It isn’t bad. I handled it badly the last time, and I’d like to try again properly. Would you rather I start with the apology, or with the list I wrote down first?”
