I don’t send any of that.
My brain intervenes.
Professional. Strategic. Measured.
ME:That could be good. I’ve been tossing around some ideas for future music events, and seeing the arena in action would actually help a lot.
I wince.
Wow. That was aggressively corporate.
There’s a beat before he responds.
COLBY:Makes sense. Let me know what game works for you.
No teasing.
No pushback.
No “just for fun.”
He accepts the boundary like it’s real.
Which somehow makes it harder to pretend this is casual.
I set my phone down and exhale slowly.
This is fine.
I can enjoy this without wanting it.
That’s the rule.
I get dressed. I make coffee. I open my calendar and stack my day like a Jenga tower of responsibility.
Life continues.
And by the time I'm ready to leave the apartment, I’ve convinced myself completely.
I’m in control.
This is business.
This is useful.
This is not a beginning.
And if my heart doesn’t seem convinced yet…
Well.
It’ll catch up.
That’s what I tell myself as I lock the door behind me and step into the hallway, heels clicking with purpose, spine straight, shoulders back. I look like a woman who knows exactly where she’s going. I look like someone with a plan.
I’m very good at plans.
I make them for a living.
