And my body reacts before my brain can intervene.
Not nerves.
Recognition.
I smooth it out immediately, step forward, remind myself of the plan.
But as I walk toward him, I have the very inconvenient thought that this is already more than I planned for.
He smiles when he sees me, easy and unforced, like this is exactly where he expected to be.
“Hey,” he says.
It’s simple. Not performative. Not loud. Just… there.
“Hey,” I answer, matching it, because suddenly anything clever feels like it would overshoot the moment.
The cameras click to life immediately, subtle but present, and I feel myself slide into place. Posture. Expression. The version of me that knows how to exist under observation.
Colby turns slightly, angling his body toward me in a way that keeps me centered but doesn’t block the cameras. It’s instinctive. Or practiced. Or both.
“You ready?” he asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” I say, which is true in the technical sense.
We step inside together, warmth replacing the cold, sound softening into low conversation and clinking glassware. The Finch is exactly what I expected. It’s dim without being dark, polished without trying too hard… a place that understands restraint.
A host greets us by name. Of course he does.
We’re led to a table near the front, visible enough for the cameras to do their job, tucked just enough that it doesn’t feel like a stage. I clock the angles without thinking. Colby does the same, his gaze scanning once, twice, then settling back on me.
“You okay with this spot?” he asks quietly, before I sit.
It’s such a small thing. Such an unnecessary courtesy.
“Yes,” I say. “This is good.”
He nods, satisfied, and pulls out my chair.
I notice that he doesn’t make a thing of it. Doesn’t wait for a reaction. Just does it, then takes his own seat across from me.
The cameras hover closer as we sit. Drinks and appetizers are ordered quickly. Water first. Sensible.
“So,” he says, once we’re settled. “How’s your day going so far?”
I blink.
That’s it. That’s the opening.
“It’s been… efficient,” I say. “Which is usually a compliment.”
He smiles. “Usually?”
“Sometimes it’s code for ‘I didn’t let myself think too hard.’”
He considers that. “That tracks.”
I laugh before I can stop myself, the sound escaping a little too easily.
