“Perfect.”
“What else can I do?” Naomi asks.
“Jesse’s going to emcee,” Mila says.
Naomi brightens. “Good choice. He’s basically human serotonin.”
“Exactly. Which means we need a script that fits the vibe of the night.”
“Define vibe,” Naomi says. “Inspirational underdog? Starchy corporate?”
“Celebratory,” Mila says. “The team’s on a roll right now, and everyone’s feeling it.”
Naomi blinks at her. “Since when?”
Mila laughs. “Since last week. Have you not seen any of the updates?”
“No? I’ve been drowning in mattress metaphors. Why, what happened?”
“They’re winning,” Mila says, eyes lighting up. “Tall’s had two back-to-back shutouts.”
Naomi sips her latte. “Is that, like, really good?”
Mila gives her that soft, pained look—the one that says, you’re pretty, but your sports IQ is tragic. “Naomi. That means the other team didn’t score. At all. Two games in a row.”
“Oh.” Naomi pauses. “So like, goalie wizardry.”
Mila’s voice is warm with pride. “The whole team’s buzzing. You can hear it in Glen’s voice on every planning call.”
Naomi hums, nodding. “Well, good for them. Good for him.”
She doesn’t mean to picture him—sweat-damp hair, muscles flexing under his jersey, that intense stare that turns her insides to liquid.
Nope. Absolutely not doing that.
She straightens, trying to redirect her brain. “Okay. Gala script. Auction items. Got it. I’ll get started on outreach today.”
Mila studies her for a second, a knowing smile tugging at her mouth. “You okay? You seem…distracted.”
Naomi forces a grin. “Just thinking about how to convince a luxury spa to give us a free weekend getaway. For charity, obviously.”
Mila laughs softly. “That’s my girl.”
As she leaves the office, Naomi tells herself the same thing she’s been saying all week.
She’s not thinking about Garrett Tall.
She’s fine. Totally fine.
Except if she’s being honest, she’s pretty sure she could describe every one of his ab muscles from memory.
And that feels like a problem.
Naomi is having what could generously be called a low-energy evening.
She’s in her rattiest sweatpants, hair up in a scrunchie, eating vegan pad thai straight from the container while half-watching a dating show where everyone is twenty-two, sunburned, and allergic to emotional growth. A candle called Coastal Clarity flickers on the coffee table, allegedly smelling like ocean breeze.
Her phone buzzes with an incoming call next to her.
