The apartment was quiet save for the rhythmic tapping of Archer's fingers on the keyboard. He'd spent the entire day on Bellie's small dining table, his laptop open, a half-empty mug of coffee beside it. The job search portal displayed yet another submission confirmation ... this one for a junior development position in Lothston five hundred miles away.

He'd applied to seventeen jobs since morning, casting a wide net across the country. Places he'd never considered before because he'd had to consider Clara's career at Lueger and Brasch.

The collapse of Helios had been a national story - at least in the tech sector. But in the city where they were headquartered, it struck harder, and his association automatically closed doors.

Perhaps, he hoped, he would get a better hearing elsewhere. Where he could start afresh without such a large shadow of failure hanging over him.

His only positive result in the city had been Nexus Innovations, starting as an intern.

It felt strange, applying for positions well below his experience level. Senior Lead Programmer to Junior Developer or even intern, was a significant step backward. But the alternative was continuing to hit walls with employers who saw only Helios's collapse when they looked at his resume.

Archer stretched, feeling the stiffness in his shoulders. He'd barely moved from the table all day, stopping only to reheat some of last night's pasta for lunch. The sun that had streamed through the windows earlier was now setting, casting long shadows across the apartment.

The envelope of cash still sat untouched on the kitchen counter where Bellie had left it in the morning. Fifteen thousand dollars. Untouchable for him, but enough to change her life ... at least temporarily.

He was just beginning to prepare something for dinner when he heard keys jingling at the door. Bellie walked in, her cheeks flushed, a bounce in her step that hadn't been there this morning.

"You're still here," she said, looking glad, setting down her bag and textbooks. Her eyes immediately went to the envelope on the counter. "And so is that."

"As promised," Archer replied.

Bellie shrugged off her jacket. "Have you been inside all day?"

"Working on job applications." Archer gestured toward his laptop. "Casting a wider net."

She walked over to the counter, running her finger along the edge of the envelope without picking it up. "You seriously spent the entire day cooped up in here? On a day like today?"

"Like what?"

"It's gorgeous outside! Sixty-eight degrees, perfect sunshine, the kind of day that makes you forget winter exists." She shook her head in disbelief. "You're worse than I am during finals week."

Archer gave a small shrug. "I had work to do."

"Well, now you have something else to do," Bellie announced. "You're coming with me to Gianni's for the best chili cheese steak and milkshake in existence. My treat."

"You don't have to do that," Archer protested. "You've been kind enough already."

Bellie let out a laugh that filled the small kitchen. "Says the man who's trying to give me fifteen thousand dollars." She pointed at him. "I got an A on my econometrics paper, and I'm celebrating. You're coming with me."

There was something infectious about her enthusiasm, a lightness that seemed to push back the shadows that had been following him. "Fine," he conceded. "But you should really use that money for your rent, not on feeding me."

"It's fifteen dollars, not fifteen hundred," she retorted, heading toward her room. "Give me five minutes to change."

Four minutes later, Bellie emerged in jeans and a long flowing top, her pixie cut hair artfully framing her face. "Ready?"

The walk to Gianni's took them through a tree-lined neighborhood that Archer hadn't really noticed the night Bellie had led him to her apartment. Now, with the late afternoon sun filtering through gold and crimson leaves, he saw the charm of the area ... small cafes with outdoor seating, independent bookstores, and students lounging on benches with textbooks open on their laps.

"How long have you lived here?" Archer asked as they walked.

"Almost two years," Bellie replied. "I got lucky with the apartment. The previous tenant was Darla's cousin, and when she moved out, Darla and I snapped it up. It's close to campus and in a safe area, which is why I'm so determined not to lose it." She glanced at him. "But we'll talk about that after we eat. I can't have serious conversations on an empty stomach."

He could tell Gianni's was a student hangout as soon as he stepped inside, from the graffiti-style designs on the walls and the long tables that ran the length of the shop and the benches on either side of them that served as seats.

The central line of sockets and USB outlets for charging laptops and phones was another big clue.

The line spilled out onto the sidewalk. "It's always like this," Bellie explained as they joined the queue. "But it moves fast, and it's worth it."

Twenty minutes later, they were seated at the far end of a bench by the window, massive sandwiches in front of them ... toasted bread piled high with thinly sliced steak, melted cheese, and spicy chili that threatened to spill over with each bite. Beside each plate sat a tall glass of milkshake, cherry cream for Archer and plain strawberry for Bellie.

"This," Bellie declared after taking her first bite, "is why I can't live anywhere else. I'd miss this too much."

Archer took a bite and had to admit she wasn't exaggerating. The flavors melded perfectly ... savory, spicy, and rich.

"And the milkshakes," Bellie continued, "are basically heaven in a glass. But dangerous." She pointed her straw at him. "I had to go cold turkey last semester because I was developing a serious addiction. These things will give you a stomach pooch if you're not careful."

Bellie surprised him by lifting the hem of her top just enough to reveal a flat unlined stomach. "See? I suffered for this." The moment the words left her mouth, he saw a flush creep up her cheeks, and she quickly dropped the fabric back into place.

Archer had already noted, dispassionately, how beautiful the woman across from him was. So different from the head-turning vision that was Clara, but no less alluring.

Her head only came up to his chin, but every part of her, from her lips to her hips was lush and voluptuous to an almost cartoonish degree, all combining with her flat belly and short hair into one thoroughly feminine package.

Archer just smiled and took a sip of his milkshake, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "It's good," he agreed. "Though I don't think I'm in danger of developing an addiction."

Bellie visibly relaxed. "That's what they all say," she warned. "Next thing you know, you're here three times a week making friends with all the servers."

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the bustle of the crowded restaurant around them creating a cocoon of white noise.

"So," Bellie said finally, wiping her hands on a napkin. "We need to talk about the money and what happens next."

Archer set down his sandwich. "What's there to talk about? The money is yours if you want it. No strings attached."

Bellie took a deep breath. "I can't just take fifteen thousand dollars from you. That's not happening."

"I told you ... "

"I know what you told me," she interrupted. "And I believe you would burn it. But I can't just take money from you."

Archer leaned back in his chair, studying her. "So what do you have in mind?"

"You don't leave. At least not yet," Bellie said. "You stay at least a month before you go anywhere."

He stared at her, not even attempting to hide his confusion. "Why?"

She met his gaze. "Are you going to go all macho on me?"

He suddenly knew what she was going to say. "No," he said, despite himself. "I won't."

She kept her eyes on his. "You know I heard it all. What happened. What your wife and Dylan Rixton did to you." She pointed a straw at him. "And I know you're hurting. I know you're hurting very badly." She paused. "I've heard you crying ... every night."

He was silent, still. Then he spoke, quietly, voice rough. "I used to wake up every morning thinking how lucky I was that she was my wife. I ... I woke up that morning thinking she was carrying my child and how I had to step up to be worthy of her ... of my kid ..."

She reached out and held his hand. "I can't begin to imagine what you're going through right now. But what I do know is that you shouldn't be alone."

He kept quiet. He didn't understand how, but somehow, just her hand on his made the pain ... easier.

"So," Bellie continued, "unless you're going to stay with your brother and his family in Camlyn, you're just going to end up in a room somewhere, in pain, by yourself. And that ... that won't be good."

On her phone, his brother had indeed immediately offered his home for Archer to stay, to get back on his feet, but he knew how pressed for space James and his family were and he had demurred, saying he was looking for somewhere in the city outskirts. " Bellie had frowned.

Now he knew why.

"So that's my condition for taking your money," Bellie said. "I admit it; I need help. I have to be pragmatic. So I'll hold it. But I'm only going to spend it for rent when I can't make it, nothing else. Anytime you need it, you let me know and I'll give you whatever is left."

"That won't be an issue," Archer said firmly. "I never will."

She shrugged and continued, "Then, at the end of my program, it will go to any charity you want. Second, you'll stay and be my roommate for a month at least. Until you're over your trauma."

He opened his mouth to say something, maybe to protest, but she spoke over him. "Don't tell me you're over it. You're not. I'm not a therapist, but I know you're not."

He sat back. "I thought you only wanted a female roommate."

"I'm an economist," she smiled. "And like I said, I'm being pragmatic. Toilet seat up versus midnight drumming rituals? Easy choice."

They both grinned at that.

"You still barely know me, though," he said finally. "I could be anyone."

Bellie rolled her eyes. "We're way past that. You're not just anyone. You're a guy who insisted on cleaning my apartment when you had every reason to be wallowing in self-pity. You're someone who would rather burn money - illegal, by the way - than spend it if it came from a source you found morally compromising. And you cook a decent pasta." She smiled. "I think I know enough."

And that, it appeared, was that.

"Okay," Archer agreed, at last. "But I'm cooking most nights. Your diet seems to consist primarily of cereal and takeout."

"Hey! I'm a struggling graduate student. Nutritional balance is a luxury." Bellie grinned and raised her milkshake glass. "To new roommates."

Archer clinked his glass against hers, smiling back. "To not burning money."

She giggled.

And he felt something inside him, something very primally male, wake up.

__________________

They continued eating in companionable silence, until he grimaced. "I need to use the little boys' room."

Bellie off-handedly pointed to the other side of the establishment, past rows of benches with young people tapping away on laptops and making notes on tablets and even actual paper notebooks.

He heard the cursing and turned to look as he went past the bench just a row away from them. It was a team of five - three boys and two girls - all clustered around a laptop.

He recognized what was on the screen; the SyncCode IDE had been a fixture of his life for a long time, and even from two table-widths away, he could tell what language it was.

"But all the parameters are correct!" one of the young men said, plaintively, almost whining. "This should work!"

"But it doesn't. Nothing fucking works," one of the girls snarled. "Fuck this class!"

"The guy can't teach for shit!" another male said. "Fuck this assignment!"

He chided himself that it was none of his business and made it to the restroom. When he came out, he realized that the story hadn't changed - in fact, it seemed to have gotten worse.

"Shit!" the second girl in the group groaned. "Now the timing function stopped working!"

"Undo and go back to the last working version," the boy standing over her shoulder said.

"I already did!" the girl cried. "It's still not working!"

He sat back across from Bellie.

She lifted an eyebrow. "You good?"

He picked up what was left of his sandwich. "Yup."

She wrinkled her nose, playfully. "Hope you washed your hands?"

He huffed. "Yes, Mom."

She laughed. "You wouldn't believe what I've seen customers do. Heck, even cooks and servers. It's a wonder I still eat outside."

He shrugged. "Darla said you can't boil water, so ..."

Her face twisted in outrage. "How ... dare you?!"

He laughed. "I can teach you some stuff, if you want."

"Hmmph!" she sniffed, furling her lip.

"Cooking is a life skill," he pointed out, spreading his hands. "And besides, it's more ... economical."

Her attempt at a glare fell before the smile blossoming on her lips. "Now you're just being unfair."

He laughed.

"Fuuuck!"

Somehow, his ears had become attuned to the floundering team on the next row and his eyes went to them as their hapless attempts to fix their solution appeared to collapse it even more.

The fourth time an expletive stole his attention, Bellie turned her head around to look for herself, following his eyes. When she turned back, she had an eyebrow raised.

"Which one?" she asked.

"What?"

"The one in the crop top, or the one in red?"

He opened his mouth to deny, then he saw her teasing smile and decided to go another route. "Why not both?"

That caught her off guard, and her mouth dropped open. Then she laughed. "You're a perv!"

He smiled. "Why do I get the feeling you like that?"

She shook her head, grinning, and pointed at him again with her straw. "You take that back ...!"

"Shit! I quit! Fuck this!"

Bellie heard that, and both of them looked. The girl in the green crop top looked near tears.

"Coding trouble," Archer explained, when she turned back. "I know the language they're using." He paused as he saw one of the boys glare at his screen, as if he could frown a solution into being. "I think I should help them."

Bellie nodded, her expression a mixture of sympathy and amusement. "Please do."

He finished the dregs of his wonderfully thick and flavorful milkshake. 'She's right,' he thought, reassessing as he stood. 'I could get addicted to this ...'

"Mind if I take a look?" he asked when he got to their table. "Zebra, right?"

They didn't mind. At that point, once he said the word Zebra - the coding language - they didn't even think to ask him his name.

It took him less than three minutes to fix the issue with their timer function and the missing callback parameter. It took him another seventeen minutes to explain the concept of scope and Zebra's use of multiple callback functions.

"See this part here?" He pointed. "You're declaring your timer variable inside this function, but trying to access it from outside. And here, you need to put at least one function in the callback array to handle completion."

Their assignment had four parts, each feeding into the next. He walked them through the fix, then he walked them through the refinement of their algorithm, explaining each step.

They were smart, he discovered, which explained their frustration. They asked clever questions and chipped in suggestions and insights as he worked.

So when he left the rest for them, they progressed smoothly, requiring minimal prompting until, finally, their small four part application was running and spewing out results.

He felt Bellie's eyes on him throughout, and, indeed, every time he looked up, she was looking at him, smiling.

"Thank you so much!" the boy who had loudly 'quit!' - Joren - exclaimed, when they were done. "We've been stuck on this shitty assignment for hours!"

The girl in the green crop top, Alison, expressed her gratitude by hugging him with her entire body. With everyone else, it was handshakes and fist bumps.

All told, it was close to a full hour before he sat opposite Bellie again.

"That was," she said, "pretty cool."

He smiled. "Been doing it for too long."

"So you can clean, cook, code and teach," she noted.

"Not sure about the last one ..."

"I am," Bellie said. "Even I was getting it ... and I can barely use any of the applications we use for my course." She put her hand under her chin. "So what other skills are you hiding, Mr. Archer McKnight?"

"Uh, hi," said a female voice, interrupting.

Archer turned and found himself looking at Alison's bared midriff. He looked up to see her smiling down nervously, her eyes going from him to Bellie.

"Hi, Alison."

She moved her hair away from her face. "I was just wondering ... are you guys together? In a relationship?"

"Um ... no," Archer said as Bellie shook her head.

"Oh!" Alison smiled widely. "That's great! I mean ..." she blushed prettily as she took out a piece of paper and gave it to him. "I mean, here's my number. Call me, okay?"

"She can't be more than eighteen," Bellie noted after Alison left, wrinkling her nose at him.

He shrugged.

"Err ... hi," said another voice.

'Oh,' Archer thought as he turned to see Joren, tall and hulking in his rugby shirt, and smiling nervously too. He was also holding a piece of paper.

Bellie looked beside herself.

"Hi, Joren," Archer said.

"I was just wondering ..."

__________________

Bellie squinted at her laptop screen, pulling her hair in frustration. The ProcSym window mocked her with its indecipherable error message: "Invalid parameter selection. Process loop unstable." She'd been wrestling with the simulation for over two hours, and her economics model refused to stabilize no matter what values she input.

"Come on," she muttered, adjusting another parameter. "Just... work." She clicked "Run Simulation" again and watched as the program churned for a few seconds before spitting out the same error message.

The sound of keys in the door pulled her attention away from the screen. Archer walked in, looking tired, his laptop bag slung over one shoulder. He kept his hair short for some reason, but it looked good on him, she thought.

"Hey," she called, grateful for the distraction. "How was class tonight?"

"Good," he replied, setting down his bag and slipping off his shoes. "Twenty-three students showed up. Joren had to find extra chairs."

"Twenty-three?" Bellie whistled. "That's a new record."

Archer nodded, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. "And Gianni sent over a plate of those cheese fries for me. Said it was on the house because the students ordered so many milkshakes."

Bellie smiled, watching him move comfortably around what had become their shared space. It had been just over seven weeks since that first night at Gianni's, when Joren had nervously approached their table ... not to hit on Archer as she'd initially thought, but to ask if he'd be willing to teach more students.

She remembered how Archer had hesitated, uncertain, until she'd jumped in, practically taking over the negotiation.

"They'll pay, of course," she'd told Joren firmly. "Twenty-five dollars per hour, per student."

Joren had blinked in surprise. "That's a bit ... "

"How much did you spend on drinks last weekend?" she'd challenged. "How much is your grade worth? He knows what he's doing, and your professor obviously doesn't."

She'd surprised even herself with her assertiveness, but the fact that someone with Archer's obvious skills had suffered because of the mistakes of his former employers - losing his job and ultimately losing his marriage in a most humiliating way - suddenly made her protective.

He deserved to be valued, she'd thought.

Joren had agreed fairly quickly, and what had started as a promised ten students twice a week had steadily grown into a regular gig that brought in decent money. Between that and the stipend from his internship at Nexus Innovations, they had made their rent payment without trouble.

Three days before his promised month was over, she had glared at him when he tried to talk to her about moving out.

"You're staying," she'd said, simply, pouting.

He got the message, and she had breathed a sigh of relief when he just nodded.

The envelope of cash remained untouched in her dresser drawer, save for the end of the previous month, soon after their arrangement had begun. Her landlord had not asked any further questions.

"How was your day?" Archer asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Any unruly sixth graders try to stage a revolt?"

Bellie laughed. Her substitute teaching position at McMasterson Academy had been a godsend ... regular hours, better pay than waitressing, and no more guilt that she was working for someone that had hurt someone she now cared very much about.

Quitting that job had felt like shedding a weight she hadn't known she was carrying.

"Just the usual. Marc tried to convince me that homework is a violation of his human rights, and Sophia's creative algebra solution almost broke my mind." She chuckled. "Mrs. Bradford tried to hook me into a date with her other son."

She had a question to ask him, but just as she was opening her mouth to ask, he looked at her screen and his head tilted.

"Is that ProcSym?"

"You know it?" Bellie asked, hope flickering.

"Used it a few times," he replied.

Which, she knew, in Archerese, meant he was ridiculously good at it.

"Get over here, Mr. McKnight," she ordered, excited.

He huffed his amusement and came around to her side of the table. "What are you working on?"

"Economic development model for rural communities with limited infrastructure," Bellie explained, shifting to make room for him. "I'm trying to simulate the impact of microfinance initiatives, but the model keeps collapsing when I run it past the five-year mark."

Archer leaned over her shoulder, bringing his face close to the screen. The familiar scent of his bathwash ... something woodsy and clean ... filled her senses. She found herself suddenly aware of the warmth radiating from his body as he reached past her to use the mouse.

"May I?" he asked.

Bellie nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach.

This was ridiculous, she thought, confusedly.

They'd been living together for weeks. They'd watched movies and worked on their laptops side-by-side on the same couch. He had gone out with her, Darla and her fiancee David for dinner, walking beside her and instinctively shielding her against the wind. She had taken him out to a karaoke bar and dragged him unto the stage and they had sung a Lily and Leon duet, flushed as the crowd applauded. He'd taught her how to properly chop vegetables without slicing her fingers, how to season and taste as she cooked.

Why was her heart suddenly racing because his arm was brushing against hers?

Maybe Darla was right, she thought.

She hadn't been on a date since he came into her life, she realized.

"Here's your problem," Archer said, scrolling through her parameters. "You've got circular dependencies in your model. See how this variable is feeding back into itself through this process chain?"

He pointed to a specific node in her diagram, his finger almost touching the screen. Bellie leaned in closer, trying to focus on the model rather than the proximity of his face to hers.

"I don't see it," she admitted.

"Here, let me show you." Archer pulled over a chair and sat down beside her, their shoulders now definitely touching. He began typing, navigating through the program with practiced ease. "ProcSym uses a hierarchical approach to process modeling. Economic systems are particularly tricky because you can end up with unintended feedback loops."

As he worked, Bellie found her attention divided between the screen and his profile. The past weeks had changed him. The hollowed-out look he'd had when she found him in that alley was gone. The haunted expression in his eyes had faded, but he still had moments ... she'd catch him staring into space sometimes, or hear him pacing in his room on sleepless nights ... but they were becoming less frequent.

"See this parameter here?" he continued, unaware of her distraction. "It's dependent on the output of this process, but then this process is also using it as an input. That creates instability over time, which is why your simulation crashes at the five-year mark."

His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard, making adjustments. "If we restructure it like this..." He created a buffer variable, then rebuilt the dependency chain. "Now the feedback loop is properly managed."

Bellie forced herself to focus on the screen, trying to follow his logic. "So the problem is I was letting too many variables interact directly?"

"Exactly," Archer nodded, his shoulder brushing against hers again. "Real economies have dampening mechanisms that prevent immediate feedback. Your model was missing those."

He clicked "Run Simulation," and this time, instead of an error message, the program began generating a beautiful cascade of graphs and charts. The model ran smoothly through five years, then ten, then twenty.

"You did it!" Bellie exclaimed, turning to him with genuine excitement. Their faces were inches apart now, close enough that she could see the flecks of amber in his brown eyes.

"We did it," he corrected with a smile. "It's your model. I just helped with the mechanics."

Bellie was suddenly very acutely aware of his proximity, of the slight part of his lips, of how his gaze momentarily dropped to her mouth before returning to her eyes.

Her heart began to hammer in her chest.

Somewhere, despite the fact that he was recovering from a devastating betrayal, between their cooking lessons and late-night movie sessions, between his patient explanations of science fiction references she didn't understand and her introducing him to her favorite animated shows, something had changed.

It was just the intimacy of shared space, she told herself, of seeing someone at their most vulnerable and still finding them fundamentally good. It was natural to develop feelings in such circumstances ...

But then ... that night at Gianni's, when 'Alison' had wrapped herself around him in that exuberant hug, Bellie had felt a sharp, unexpected pang that she'd later recognized as jealousy.

Archer suddenly blinked and leaned back slightly, breaking the spell. "Um, you should be able to complete your analysis now. The model's stable."

"Right," Bellie said, her voice a little higher than normal. "Thanks. That would have taken me days to figure out."

He stood up. "No problem. Happy to help."

"You always are," she said softly, feeling a strange mix of relief and ... disappointment.

Archer ran a hand over his scalp, looking suddenly awkward. "I should probably take a shower. Out in a bit."

"Sure," Bellie nodded, turning back to her computer, feeling her body tingle as the simulation ran on her screen ... stable now, throwing out numbers as it proceeded toward its conclusion.

She remembered what she had wanted to ask him after he disappeared into the bathroom. Bellie let out a long, slow breath before picking up a post-it, writing on it and sticking it on her laptop's bezel so she wouldn't forget when he got out.

__________________

Archer stood under the hot spray of the shower, letting the water wash away the tension of the day. The classes at Gianni's were rewarding but draining.

Unbidden, his mind drifted to the moment just minutes ago ... Bellie's face so close to his, that brief flicker of ... something ... passing between them.

He turned off the water, pushing the thought away. He caught his reflection in the steamy mirror as he toweled off. The hollowed-out look that had haunted him for weeks since the bistro at the Rixton had faded.

He was doing ... fine, he thought. Recovering. And he knew he had Bellie to thank for that. For just being there. She was right; being alone would have been a mistake.

His internship at Nexus Innovations was going surprisingly well. Just yesterday, his supervisor Trey had called him into his office.

"This code optimization you implemented," he'd said, tapping his screen, "it's amazing work, Archer. We don't typically see this from the intern pool."

He'd shrugged. "I've been doing this for a while."

"Clearly." Trey studied him. "Which begs the question: why are you interning at all? With your experience, you should be leading a team."

"My recent employment history is ... complicated."

"Helios Systems." Trey nodded. "I looked you up, you know. Senior Lead Programmer there for four years."

Archer had shifted uncomfortably.

"I spoke to Rob Garrison."

Archer had smiled at the mention of his former manager. "How is he? I didn't know you knew him."

"We were in college together." Trey had said. "He's doing good."

"He was smart enough to see where the suits were taking us and jump ship," Archer admitted. "He tried to get me to come along but ..." Archer shrugged.

"Well," Trey had said, looking up at him, "I've been authorized to tell you that we're considering bypassing the junior programmer role altogether for you. We'd start you as a mid-level developer with potential for senior status review in six to twelve months."

The news had been both validating and unsettling. If he'd swallowed his pride months ago, applied for lower positions instead of insisting on roles equivalent to his previous status at Helios... would things have been different? Could he have found work sooner?

Would he still have his marriage?

Archer pulled on a t-shirt and sweatpants, running a hand through his hair.

No, he decided. Nothing would have changed the essential facts. Clara would still have met Dylan Rixton through her firm. She would still have been drawn to his wealth, his power, his status. Archer would still have been the 'anchor' weighing her down.

He would still be 'better' for her.

Dylan and Clara were all over social media and gossip columns since returning from Paris. The 'scandal' of her still-valid marriage when she'd conceived Dylan's child had been glossed over, transformed into a romantic narrative of star-crossed lovers who couldn't wait for paperwork to catch up with their hearts. They were the city's golden couple, Clara glowing in designer maternity wear, Dylan protectively at her side.

Archer had seen the latest photoshoot in a magazine someone had left in the break room at Nexus. Clara looked genuinely happy. Perhaps happier than she'd ever looked with him.

What the public narrative conveniently omitted was any mention of her ex-husband. He'd discovered, with a strange mixture of hurt and relief, that he'd been completely erased from Clara's newly-created online persona. She had gone from rising star attorney at the up and coming Lueger and Brasch directly to Dylan Rixton's fiancee, no inconvenient five year marriage in between.

But the carefully constructed story had developed a crack a few days before. A crack named Alex Mercer, reporter for City Pulse, a glossy gossip magazine that trafficked in celebrity relationships and scandals.

"Archer McKnight?" The thin man with sharp eyes had approached him as he left Nexus' offices, heading for the subway station. He held out a business card. "I'm Alex Mercer. You're Clara Payne's ex-husband, right?"

Archer had frozen for a moment, remembering the NDA. "No comment."

"Look, I'm trying to get the real story here," Mercer had persisted, following as Archer walked on. "I went to your old apartment building. Found someone there - a source - who gave me some interesting details."

Despite himself, Archer had paused, looking expectantly at Mercer.

"He said you and Clara were living together until very recently. No sign of any separation. Then suddenly, in a single day, she's with Dylan Rixton, and you disappeared." Mercer's smile had been knowing. "He also mentioned seeing a guy who looked like Rixton visiting your building multiple times when you weren't home in the last few months. His elevator always stopped at your floor."

Which confirmed two things; his 'source' was one of the guys at the security desk. And second, that Clara and Dylan's affair had partly been conducted in his own home, almost certainly in his own bed. It had sent a fresh wave of nausea through him.

"Was the parting really 'amicable' like they're claiming?" Mercer had pressed. "Did you really give your blessing to their relationship? Because my source says the timeline doesn't add up."

"I have nothing to say," Archer had managed, nodding curtly at the man, and walking off.

"I'm going to get to the bottom of this story," Mercer had called after him. "Might as well tell your side!"

Archer hadn't mentioned the encounter to Bellie. What would be the point? Dredging up more pain? Inviting more humiliation?

If Mercer got his story published, he would deal with it then - and any fallout from Dylan Rixton and the NDA he had stupidly signed.

He emerged from the bathroom to find the apartment softly lit, the harsh overhead lights replaced by the warm glow of the floor lamps Bellie had found at a thrift store. She had made tea for herself ... he could smell the chamomile ... and decaf coffee for him, both mugs steaming on the coffee table. She sat curled on the couch, her tablet in hand.

She looked up with a smile that twisted something in his chest. She wore a cropped T-shirt that revealed a sliver of midriff and knee-length pajama bottoms with some cartoon character he didn't recognize. Her short hair was tucked behind one ear, revealing the delicate curve of her neck.

Archer felt a sudden, intense awareness of her as a woman ... the soft fullness of her lips, the generous curves of her body, the warmth in her eyes when she looked at him. She was beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with the polished perfection Clara had cultivated. Bellie's beauty was natural, unaffected, and somehow more real for it.

He forced his mind away from that dangerous path as he settled beside her on the couch, careful to maintain a safe distance.

"Coffee," he said gratefully, taking the mug. "You're a mind reader."

"Least I could do after you saved my ProcSym project," she replied, tucking her legs beneath her. "I thought I wasn't going to sleep tonight."

"Happy to help." He said again as he sipped his coffee, noting she'd made it exactly how he liked it ... a dollop of condensed milk, no sugar necessary.

Bellie seemed to hesitate, then set her tablet aside. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"It's a favor, actually. A pretty big one." She twisted a strand of hair around her finger ... a nervous habit he'd noticed emerged when she was uncertain. "You can absolutely say no."

Archer raised an eyebrow. "Now I'm intrigued."

She took a deep breath. "We have a Coding Club at school," she explained. "Dr. Chen was running it, but she has to leave to take care of her parents in Taiwan. The kids have this competition coming up soon and they need a faculty supervisor."

"I'm not faculty ..."

She looked at him hopefully. "I'd have to be your guarantor, and it would just be for a few hours after school, two days a week ..."

She trailed off.

"But, of course ... it's okay if you're too busy. I know your schedule is heavy ..."

"Busy is good for me," Archer said. "It takes my mind off ... things."

Like the constant barrage of magazine covers with Clara and Dylan Rixton, the city's happy golden couple.

Bellie nodded her understanding.

He thought through her request. His schedule was heavy. Not only was his workload at Nexus increasing as his skill level was recognized, he had his coding classes at Gianni's.

Then he took in the hopeful and concerned look on her face, and it really wasn't a difficult decision. "So you are saying I will have minions who shall be forced do my bidding?"

She smiled, snorting. "I guess so ... yes."

He grinned. "Okay. I can try. Depending on the schedule."

"It's ... it's flexible," Bellie stammered, overjoyed. "Are you sure ...?"

He grinned. "That's why I said I'll try."

"Thank you! Thank you so much! You have no idea what this could mean for them!" Bellie's smile was radiant.

And entirely worth it.

"Happy to help," Archer said, again.

"You always are," she said, quietly, again, smiling at him.

"It's the least I can do," he said. "After everything you've done for me."

She reached out and held his hand.

A comfortable silence fell between them. Outside, rain had begun to fall, drops pattering against the windows. Inside, in this small apartment with its secondhand furniture and warm lighting, Archer realized he felt something he hadn't expected to feel again so soon.

He felt at home.

__________________

The principal of McMasterson Academy was a stout woman in her early sixties who rose to greet them with a warm smile.

"So you're the coding guy from Gianni's," Sharon Albern said, extending her hand. "Belinda's been singing your praises."

He caught Bellie's slight blush as he shook the principal's hand. "I hope I can help."

Sharon gestured for them to sit. "I admit, this coding stuff goes over my head."

"Sometimes, it goes over mine," Archer confessed, thinking of some of the projects under development at Nexus Innovations.

"Don't be so modest, Mr. McKnight," Sharon admonished, grinning. "My godson Sam told me you've been coaching him on this 'Zebra' thing at Gianni's. He was sure he was getting a C at best for the course, then you show up, and he got an A-minus for his midterm."

Archer shrugged, feeling a small surge of heat.

"He really is that good," Bellie said, smiling proudly at him.

The principal's smile took on a serious cast as she turned her gaze on Archer, leaning forward slightly. "These aren't wealthy kids, Mr. McKnight. Getting noticed at events like this hackathon - it can open doors for them."

"I'll do my best," Archer promised, deciding he liked her.

She nodded in acknowledgment before continuing, "So, I'll let you and Belinda go so you can get started, but there's some paperwork we'll need you to fill out for the Teachers' Council."

They shook hands again, and Bellie led him out.

"Lydia - Dr. Chen - only got things started last term," Bellie said as they walked down the hallway, "but she really got the kids to open up."

Her arm was threaded through his, and she was visibly animated, "When she announced she was leaving ... they were devastated."

She opened a door labeled 'Coding Lab' and led him inside what was clearly a repurposed storage room. He looked at the familiar outlines of shelving brackets still visible on walls painted a drab gray.

Desktops were arranged around the edges of the room, with a whiteboard dominating one wall. The other was decorated with student projects and competition flyers.

Eleven young faces turned to look at him with varying degrees of wariness and interest.

'Okay, Archer,' he thought to himself, remembering his first day in middle school. 'Just remember; they won't bite.'

"Hey everyone!" Bellie announced, bringing him back to the present. "This is Mr. Archer McKnight. He's going to be your supervisor ... so you guys won't miss the hackathon!" She was practically bouncing with enthusiasm.

There was a lot of whispering before a girl with immaculate hair and perfect posture raised her hand. "Are you really qualified to replace Dr. Chen?"

He liked how direct she was, and he knew, for a certainty, that that this was Elise Jong-Park.

Bellie had told him a bit about the kids. "Four of them are in my homeroom. Alex is very sweet. Then there's Henry - he barely speaks except when he's coding. And Kevin, who's brilliant but shy about his teeth."

"What's wrong with his teeth?" he'd asked.

"He has CCD - cleidocranial dysplasia." She grimaced. "I didn't know about it until he was in my class. He has no front teeth."

"I don't know what that is, either," he noted. "But I'll read up."

"And Elise ..." she continued. "You might want to watch out for her ... She's intense. Very competitive and kinda ... bossy."

He remembered his Junior Ranger Corps days in middle school and decided to go for a more ... military approach. "Good question. But first, identify yourself."

The girl blinked. Then she composed herself and answered. "My name is Elise Jiho Jong-Park."

"Grade?" he returned.

"Eighth," she answered. He nodded. "Good. Well, I am not trying to replace Dr. Chen. I am not that awesome."

That made the kids, and Bellie, smile.

"But I do know coding, and I know Zebra."

"Version?" came a quiet voice from the back. The boy had a slight lisp and spoke looking down at the desk, trying to hide his mouth.

"Identify yourself," Archer said.

"Kevin," the boy said, covering his mouth, "Kevin Mayns."

"I have worked with versions 1.7 to 3.6," Archer said. He moved to the board. "First things first, everyone needs to stand up and identify yourselves. Then we're going to see where you all are skillwise, and then we start preparing for this hackatron."

"Hackathon!" yelled some young voices.

He shrugged. "Whatever the name is, we're gonna kick its rear end. Now, everyone stand. At attention, people."

All eleven students scrambled to their feet and introduced themselves: Elise Jong-Park, Ruchi Nanjiani, Kevin Mayns, Sarah Payne, Tommy Wu, Maria Delgado, Jake Peterson, Alex Abrams, Ricardo Martinez, Lisa Holman and Henry Lisser - who, as Bellie had predicted, barely looked up and mumbled his name.

"Good," Archer said, turning to the whiteboard. "Now, let's see where everyone is."

He wrote two problems on the board:

1. Create a function that finds the longest word in a sentence.
2. Create a function that checks if a number is prime.

"You have twenty minutes. Pick any one. Or do both if you're feeling ambitious. Show me what you can do."

Moving around the room, he observed their work patterns. Kevin immediately dove into the prime problem. Elise methodically started with the word-finding function, her work neat and precise.

Henry was staring at his screen, hands hovering over the keyboard for close to a minute, then he went for the prime function. Archer smiled as he saw that he was using the square root method to find divisors.

When time was up, he had them present their work. He was genuinely impressed. With them and the absent Dr. Chen. Their algorithms were thoughtful, and several had used creative approaches he hadn't expected from middle schoolers.

"Excellent work, ladies and gentlemen" Archer said. "Now, let me show you how we're going to work from here on in."

He drew columns on the board: 'To Do', 'In Progress', 'Done', 'Testing'.

"This is called a Scrum board. Nothing moves to 'Done' until it's been tested. That's our first rule."

He explained pair programming, requirements analysis, the importance of a proper testing framework. The students engaged, asking questions and offering suggestions on everything from IDEs to version control. Henry spoke up too, causing many raised eyebrows amongst his peers and Bellie.

He stepped back at last. "That's it for today. And by the way, I've decided; 'Coding Club' is boring. We're now 'The McMasterson Coding Legion.' We'll come up with a motto by our next meeting."

He saw them all look at each other, some even mouthing their new name.

"We're going to tackle this hackation as a team - like a singular unit. So we will act like one. You'll call each other first if you need help and learn together. But if you're still having problems, ask your parents for permission to call me. Then we come back here and share."

They were all sitting straighter, even Henry and Kevin.

He tilted his head. "Clear?"

"Clear!" came the response.

He saw Bellie smiling at him.

He smiled at the young faces. "Dismissed."

__________________

Bellie watched from her usual guarantor's spot by the door as the 'Coding Legion' wrapped up another session. Every Wednesday and Thursday she found herself enjoying watching him effortlessly command the kids' attention, watching their faces light up as they comprehended something new, their confidence in themselves and their own abilities growing.

Just a few weeks in, and the transformation was remarkable. The military structure Archer had imposed - daily 'status reports,' paired 'operations' with a 'sniper' and 'spotter', systematic 'mission planning' sessions and 'briefings' - had somehow made the entire enterprise fun rather than intimidating, and the kids had taken to it with surprising enthusiasm.

In keeping with the Legion motif, Archer had gone full ancient Rome and assigned roles like 'Primus' and 'Optio' to the 'Legionnaires' at random.

She had just watched painfully shy Henry stand in front of the room and give a 'briefing' as the week's Primus. Elise had embraced her role as Optio - in charge of maintaining standards - with almost manic zeal.

"See you all next week," Archer was saying as students packed up their gear.

Jake snapped a playful salute as he left. "Bye, Imperator, sir!"

Ruchi had discovered the Latin title for Emperor and swiftly decided that was going to be their supervisor's title. Given that he introduced the Roman motif, his protests rang hollow as every one in the 'legion' had adopted it, even Bellie.

Bellie noticed that most of them saluted him in some way as they exited, now part of their culture. Those few that didn't, like Elise, sent him a wide unguarded smile instead.

She felt that the flutter in her chest again as Archer spoke with a much less self-conscious Kevin and Lisa in turn, at the way he naturally made time for each 'legionnaire.'

She was finding herself lying awake at night, her mind increasingly dominated by the man in the room across from hers; hoping, wishing she would hear a knock, so she could invite him to come in.

Wishing for the courage to knock on his door.

Living with him was becoming ... difficult. But the very thought of him leaving the apartment, to move somewhere else, was a source of something akin to terror.

He was easily the best roommate she had ever had ... better even than Darla. But she wanted more than a roommate, more than the warm, comfortable friendship that had blossomed between them.

Wanting that after what he had been through, with his wife and Dylan Rixton in the news, in his face, every week, made her feel guilty. Selfish, even.

But the need for him to see her as a woman, as an object of desire, still persisted, and it had made her less ... modest around the apartment.

"Imperator ... Sir?" A quiet voice interrupted her thoughts.

Alex Abrams stood by Archer's desk, and he brought fist to chest in a sci-fi influenced salute.

"At ease, Legionnaire Abrams," Archer said with mock seriousness, returning the courtesy, making the boy smile. "What's on your mind?"

"It's ... it's about my brothers, sir," Alex said, glancing at Bellie before continuing. "Ethan and Nathan. They're the reason I started coding."

"Okay," Archer nodded for him to continue.

Bellie chimed in. "Ethan and Nathan are in our special needs annex," she explained to Archer. "They're autistic. Seventeen. Twins."

"They're really good at programming," Alex stated. "I mean, really, really good."

Archer nodded again. "I see ..."

"They've been working on a project for months," Alex continued, his voice gaining strength, but cracking slightly with emotion. "But they're stuck on something and it's making them really upset. Like, really upset. Nathan won't eat properly and Ethan keeps having meltdowns. For weeks now."

She saw Archer's head tilt slightly in that considering way. "You want me to help them?"

Alex nodded. "Yes, sir. Please."

Archer took a deep breath. "What kind of project?"

"A gaming platform," Alex said, looking hopeful. "I tried looking at it, to help them, but the language is AX+ and ..." He held out his hands helplessly.

Bellie watched Archer process this, saw the moment he made his decision. That little nod he did when committing to help someone - she'd catalogued so many of his gestures without realizing it.

"I could meet with them and see," Archer said. "Would your parents be okay with that?"

"My mom would be there," Alex said, unable to hide his hope. "She's been trying to find someone who can help, but ..."

"I'll arrange it," Bellie said to Archer, thinking of his schedule, and hers. She wanted to be there. "I know her. Could they meet him at Gianni's? Saturday? Before noon?"

Alex nodded eagerly, openly relieved and babbling. "They like Gianni's. They like the milkshakes. They'll take their headphones ..."

Archer turned to Bellie after Alex left. "Thanks for the context. I didn't know about the annex. I just hope I can help them."

"I'm sure you can," Bellie said, confident. She stepped closer, looking up at him. "You're really good with them, the kids," she said, keeping her voice casual. "The whole military thing - I thought it might be too much, but they love it."

He shrugged, that self-deprecating gesture she'd come to cherish. "Structure helps. Gives them a framework. I remember being the weird nerdy kid into sci-fi with no friends. The JRC helped me. A lot."

"You're not so weird," she said automatically, then felt heat rush to her cheeks. "I mean..."

He smiled at her, the teasing smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Thanks, Bellie, I think."

She watched him pack up his laptop, folding away the screen extenders that had the kids drooling with envy. Noticed how his hands moved with confident precision. Coder's hands, but strong too. She'd felt them when he'd helped her move a bookshelf last week, firm and sure.

Stop it, she told herself. He's your roommate. He's still recovering from a devastating betrayal.

The last thing he needs - or wants - is another relationship. And the last thing she wanted was for him to leave, and she wasn't going to risk that.

But as they walked out together, she couldn't help noticing how he automatically positioned himself on the traffic side of the sidewalk, protecting her. How he held doors for her - not from some romantic interest but because he genuinely valued and cared for her.

How he listened when she rambled on about yet another economics paper, being her sounding board, asking intelligent questions despite not knowing much beyond the basics.

"Want to grab dinner?" she asked impulsively as they walked to the bus stop, threading her arm through his. "My treat. Nanjiani's."

He smiled. "Ruchi's Dad, right?"

"Yeah," she grinned, impishly. "His teachers get discounts ..."

"But what's the occasion?"

She furled her lip playfully. "I can't just treat you? Besides, I know you like it hot, and the Phall and Jalfrezi there is ridiculously good."

He lifted his eyebrows. "I'm not saying no to that."

She giggled. "And they have karaoke ..."

He laughed. "I knew there was a catch ...!"

His laugh made her heart do ... something.

Linking her arm through his was one thing, friends could do that. But what she really wanted to do was hold his hand, to feel his fingers link with hers, to experience that intimacy. She shook her head, trying to dispel the thought.

Darla had already seen it; what was happening. What a momentous decision offering a broken man a room for just one night was turning out to be.

'I'm in trouble,' she thought, not for the first time.