Holly walks in with her coffee and drops into her favored chair in the seating area without preamble. "The crowd flow at the coffee shop is making me insane."
Finally, a conversation with stakes I understand.
I take the seat next to her. “Terrible design?”
“The worst. They have their outdoor seating blocking the entrance during lunch rush. People are bottlenecking on the sidewalk.”
“Right?”
We're both the kind of people who notice these things—the flow problems, the friction points, the places where design fails function. Probably why we work well together.
She opens her planner, which is covered in sticky notes and colored tabs, layers of them creating a three-dimensional roadmap of the gala. Flips to the florist section.
“The florist sent over sample photos this morning,” I say, nodding toward her notes. “The centerpieces are perfect. You were right about the height.”
Why am I telling her this like it's exciting news?
Because her eyes just brightened. And I want to see it again.
“Great, and here are some additional vendor confirmations,” she says, flipping through pages. “Caterer confirmed, AV team has the specs for the video wall. I'm coordinating with Jocelyn for the social media coverage. I've also been working with Britney on her schedule—she can do the greeting role but needs to leave by nine for her shift at the hospital.”
“That works. What about James?”
“He's bringing his grandson.” She grins. “He wants to show everyone Michael’s acceptance letter. I told him we'd display it at his table.”
“We should get him a spotlight too. Make sure people see it during the scholarship announcement,” I say.
Watching Holly talk about James's grandson—her care is infectious. She's personally invested in this kid's triumph.
“Perfect,” she says, scribbling more notes.
She flips to another tabbed section. “Which brings me to the guest list. I noticed Evelyn Durst hasn’t confirmed yet.”
She says it carefully, trying not to sound too interested.
“Do you know her?”
“Not personally. But The Durst Group.” She pauses, choosing her words. “They're the gold standard for large-scale event planning. They handle everything—galas, conferences, major fundraisers. Getting into their rotation would be ... .”
She trails off. Her voice stays casual but her hands give her away, fingers tapping against her tablet. She cares about this too.
“Career-changing,” I supply.
“Yes,” she says. “But they only work with people in their network. You can't just apply. Someone has to introduce you, vouch for you. And even then, they're incredibly selective.”
My brain is already working on it. Evelyn Durst. I could?—
No. Stop. This isn't your problem to solve. You're her client, not her ... whatever the opposite of client is.
But I want to help her. The realization sits in my chest like something I should examine more closely later.
“You'd be perfect for them,” I say.
She looks up, startled. “What?”
I should backpedal. Maintain the distance that serves me well in every other relationship. But with Holly, I don’t want to.
Screw it.
