She's trying not to laugh.
"Stone," she says, and her voice is shaking with the effort of staying composed. "Networking doesn't mean actual nets."
"Oh."
"It means making connections. Meeting people. Talking about business."
"That makes more sense."
The laughter is getting louder. But it's not mean. Not mocking. It's the kind of laughter that happens when something is absurd but also somehow charming.
A woman approaches. Fifties. Sharp suit. Name tag that saysCouncilwoman Jenkins.
"Is that a genuine orc fishing net?" she asks.
"Yes." I straighten slightly. "Hand-knotted. Traditional pattern from the northern settlements."
"Gorgeous work." She examines it with clear interest. Professional interest. "Would you consider selling these? My daughter runs a artisanal goods shop. She'd love this."
I blink. "Really?"
"Absolutely. Do you have others?"
"I could make more."
"Perfect." She hands me a business card. "Have her call me. We'll work something out."
She walks away.
Lacy stares at me. "You just accidentally networked."
"With a net."
"With a net."
We look at each other.
She starts laughing. Really laughing this time. The kind that makes her eyes crinkle and her whole face transform into something completely unguarded.
I laugh too. Can't help it. The absurdity of the whole situation. The genuine confusion. The fact that I somehow succeeded while completely misunderstanding the assignment.
"You're ridiculous," Lacy says when she catches her breath.
"I know."
"But you sold a net."
"I'm very surprised about that."
She shakes her head. Still smiling. "Come on. Let's actually network. Without props this time."
She takes my arm.
Just casually. Like it's nothing. Her hand rests in the crook of my elbow. Small and warm and completely unexpected.
I stop breathing for approximately three seconds.
Then I follow her into the crowd of business owners, the net still coiled over my shoulder, my heart flip-flops. I absolutely will not examine it right now.
