Okay. Maybe a tiny bit a date.
My phone buzzes again.
PR:Dinner is confirmed at The Finch. Cameras on arrival and first course.
I stare at the screen for half a second longer than necessary.
“That’s smart,” I say.
Paige raises a brow. “You say that like you’re relieved.”
“I like knowing the parameters,” I say. “Timing. Cameras. When I’m officially on.”
Nancy smiles faintly. “You like knowing control points.”
I ignore that and reach for my shoes.
Paige hops off the bed and pulls me into a hug. “You’re going to be great.”
“I know.”
“You’re allowed to enjoy it.”
“I am enjoying it,” I say, which is technically true. I enjoy being prepared. I enjoy having a plan. I enjoy not being surprised.
Nancy stands and smooths my sleeve, precise as always. “Just remember, you don’t owe anyone a performance.”
That lands harder than I expect.
***
The car pulls up outside right on time.
I grab my coat, take one last look in the mirror, and straighten my shoulders.
This is controlled.
This is contained.
This is… not exactly a date.
The Nashville air is sharp when I step outside, winter biting just enough to keep me alert. Cameras are already positioned, discreet but present. I school my expression into something calm, pleasant and practiced.
The car door opens. I slide in, composed.
As we pull away, my reflection stares back at me in the tinted glass.
I look like I have everything handled.
In about 20 minutes, the restaurant comes into view, warm lights glowing against the cold. I step out, coat on, posture set.
And then I see him.
Colby Hayes is waiting near the entrance, hands in his pockets, relaxed like this isn’t being tracked, timed, and archived.
He looks up.
Our eyes meet.
