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They sat there for an hour. Just talking. Not about work, not about the future, not about the spinning plates of their lives. They talked about the taste of the coffee, the rain starting to streak the window, the fact that they had been dancing around this moment for three years. This was the narrative arc correcting itself. The 'will-they-won't-they' tension wasn't resolved by a grand gesture, but by the simplification of the variable.