Fun fact: it's almost impossible to focus on bug fixes when the guy you just made out with in front of your entire investor list is sitting directly across from you, looking like he invented cheekbones and perfected smirking. Worse still? Brittany keeps walking by our shared desk whispering, "Mrs. RealMatch" under her breath like a cursed wedding officiant from a reality show gone rogue.
I'd love to say we were handling it all with grace and maturity. But that would be a boldfaced lie. The kind of lie you post on a dating profile, right next to a photo where you're "accidentally" holding a Nobel Prize and petting a tiger.
Leo, naturally, was being weirdly chill. Chill in the way only someone who had just declared their undying affection in front of three venture capitalists, a seafood tower, and a Spotify playlist of early-2000s love songs could be.
"Morning," he said, casually sipping his coffee like we were just two platonic co-founders and not newly-declared idiots in love.
"Morning," I muttered, typing what could only be described as code-shaped gibberish into my keyboard.
We were broken. Gloriously, hopelessly, deliciously broken.
Brittany popped up behind my chair like a caffeine-fueled genie. "Soooo," she began, voice dripping with glee, "when's the wedding?"
"Tomorrow," Leo deadpanned. "Cleo's wearing a jumpsuit. I'm arriving by hoverboard."
"Perfect," Brittany replied, nodding. "I'll bring the cake. Maybe confetti. Vegan, obviously."
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "Can we not plan imaginary weddings during a code freeze?"
Brittany leaned in. "You kissed him, Cleo. In public. That ship has not only sailed—it's launched an entire cruise line."
She had a point. A terrifying, hilarious, incredibly observant point.
I turned to Leo. "Are we going to talk about it? Or are we pretending last night was a collective fever dream brought on by champagne and emotional repression?"
He met my gaze. No winks. No smug grins. Just solid, honest, terrifying eye contact.
"You want to talk about it here? With Brittany eavesdropping and our Slack channels currently melting down with memes?"
"...Good point. Lunch?"
"Done."
He smiled. The kind of smile that doesn't stop at your lips. The kind that lands somewhere between your ribs and the part of your brain responsible for rational decisions.
We got exactly zero work done that morning.
**
Lunch was sushi in the park, eaten with eco-friendly chopsticks and shared awkward glances. Leo had picked it up from that place he claimed was overpriced but secretly adored, as evidenced by the loyalty punch card falling out of his wallet.
We sat on a slightly wobbly bench under a cherry blossom tree, looking like two tech idiots trying to cosplay as emotionally mature adults.
"So," I started, mouth full of rice. "About last night."
"I meant it," he said instantly. No hesitation. No dramatic pause. Just pure, bold certainty.
I stopped chewing. Swallowed slowly. Nearly choked on a rogue piece of spicy tuna.
"Okay. Cool. Great. That's... cool."
He tilted his head, watching me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve. "You don't believe me?"
"No, I do. I just—"
"Need to freak out for a second?"
I nodded. "Yes. Desperately."
I took a deep breath. Counted to three. Accidentally made eye contact with a squirrel.
"Leo, I like you. A lot. Maybe too much. But we work together. We've risked everything on this app. If we screw this up—"
"We won't," he said firmly.
"You don't know that."
"Nope," he replied, casually popping a piece of salmon into his mouth. "But I know I'd rather risk everything than pretend I don't want to kiss you again."
And then—he did.
Right there in the park, under a pink-flowered tree, while a couple of teenagers took selfies and soy sauce packets slid out of my lap like sad confetti.
**
Back at the office, any post-smooch bliss was short-lived.
Brittany barreled into the room like a well-dressed hurricane. "The app crashed," she announced. "And it's blaming everyone's exes for it."
Leo blinked. "Blaming... their exes?"
She waved her phone. "There's a bug in the new update. Every user is getting matched exclusively with their most recent ex. It's like we've coded heartbreak into the algorithm. Emotional sabotage in 1080p."
My stomach dropped. "Oh no."
Leo grimaced. "We've accidentally created an app for masochists."
The next several hours were a caffeine-fueled montage of chaos. We huddled around our screens, fingers flying. I hadn't felt this stressed since the launch week—or my final presentation in college when my slides disappeared and I had to wing it with finger puppets.
At one point, Brittany ordered pizza. At another, Leo tried to reason with the database like it had feelings. I may or may not have whispered, "I told you the servers were haunted."
Finally, sometime around 10 p.m., we restored balance to the dating universe.
Users were no longer being matched with their exes. The error messages had stopped referencing past traumas. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
I slumped in my chair. Exhausted. Grimy. In desperate need of moisturizer.
"We need to stop flirting," I said. "The app gets jealous."
Leo let out a short laugh. "I'll schedule our next emotional meltdown for after the next update."
We exchanged a look. One of those wordless, exhausted, slightly delirious glances.
Somewhere between the code crashes and the awkward sushi date and the public declarations of affection, something had shifted.
It wasn't just lust or infatuation.
We were a team. And maybe, just maybe, we were also falling for each other.
"Hey," Leo said, reaching for my hand under the table. "We're going to be okay."
And I believed him.
Because this wasn't the end of our story.
It was just the next version release—the one with all the good updates.