April nods as if I’ve confirmed some theory she’s been working on, then immediately switches topics to ask if I think the event will have dessert.
The kid has a gift for keeping conversations moving.
We pull up to the conservatory, and I can see why Heather chose this place. It’s beautiful—a sprawling glass structurewith modern additions, surrounded by gardens that still look amazing in the fading evening sunlight. Through the lit windows, I can see even more lush greenery inside.
“Okay,” Heather says, already pulling out her phone and scrolling through what looks like a very detailed checklist. “The caterers should already be here, and the rental company was supposed to deliver the extra tables by four. I need to check on the sound system and make sure the slideshow is queued up properly and?—”
“Heather.”
She looks up, blinking at me like she forgot I was here.
“Breathe. You’re a pro. You’ve got this.”
She takes a visible breath, then nods. “Right. I’ve got this.”
The moment we walk through the doors and she spots the event coordinator waiting for her, something changes. The scattered, anxious energy that was radiating off her in the truck disappears, and she’s suddenly sharp and focused in a way I seldom get to see when we’re lounging around the house together.
This is Heather in her element, doing work that matters to her, and she’s fucking good at it.
It’s also, somewhat inconveniently, a turn-on.
“Grant?” She’s suddenly in front of me, clipboard in hand. “Can you help me move that table against the wall? The caterers need more space to set up.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
I follow her instructions, moving furniture and adjusting the layout of the room while she oversees everything with the kind of laser-sharp attention to detail I usually reserve for game footage. April helps where she can, mostly by staying out of the way and taking pictures of the flowers in the greenhouse section.
By the time we’re finished with the setup, the space looks like something out of a magazine. Round tables with white linentablecloths and centerpieces made of simple greenery. Candles that put out the perfect amount of soft lighting to make the whole room feel warm and intimate.
One whole side of the room opens into the greenhouse section, where the tropical plants and climbing vines create the kind of lush backdrop that doesn’t need any other decoration to be breathtaking.
“This is going to be amazing,” I tell Heather as she does one final walk-through.
She nibbles on her bottom lip, and I can see some of the nervous energy creeping back in now that the setup is done. “You think so? The tables aren’t too crowded, are they? And the lighting is okay?”
“It’s perfect. Every detail.”
She looks at me, and I can see her wanting to believe me but not quite able to let herself relax. “I just want this to go well. The shelter needs this.”
“It’s gonna be great. Better than great, because you made it happen.”
Before she can respond, the front doors open and people start to arrive. First a few volunteers from the shelter, then some of the donors, and then I spot Margo walking in with Noah. Reese arrives with Callie several minutes later, with Theo and Becca close behind. Several more of our teammates filter in as well, and Sawyer gives me a nod from across the room, Violet on his arm.
Reese sidles up to me, nudging me with his shoulder. “Nice to see you outside the arena, Parker. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to walk in shoes that don’t have blades strapped to them.”
“Is that a clip-on tie?” I shoot back, earning a few laughs from the people gathered around us. Callie’s green eyes shine with mirth as she adjusts his tie playfully and plants a kiss on his lips.
More guests filter in, and the room starts to fill with the quiet buzz of conversation. Heather is in full hostess mode now, greeting people and thanking them for coming. I watch as she moves through the crowd, smiling and gracious as she makes everyone feel seen and welcome.
Margo appears next to me with two plastic cups in hand. “Sparkling grape juice? I keep telling myself it’s almost as tasty as the champagne.”
I take the cup and salute her with it. “We designated drivers and pregnant women have to stick together, I suppose.”
“That’s the spirit. And is that a new suit? Or does it just look ten times better outside the arena?”
“This is the first time I’ve worn it,” I confirm with a half-smile into my cup as I take a drink.
She looks me up and down appraisingly. “It’s nice. Custom tailored?”
