“Those go in the gray bin,” Saul’s deep voice rumbles behind me. He’s pointing at a plastic tub near the counter.
I nod and carry the cups over. “Thanks. Anything else?”
He eyes me for a beat, then jerks his head toward the stacked chairs. “Six rows, five chairs each.”
“Got it.” I roll up my sleeves and begin setting them out in neat rows. The routine is second nature; my busboy days at The Place flash back with each careful placement. When I’m done, I grab a rag and wipe down tables until they gleam.
“Volunteering now?” Rowan emerges from the back room with a box of sound equipment, her tone teasing.
I shrug, keeping my back to her. “Just offering a hand.”
Her eyes flick to my arms, then soften. “Well, don’t let me stop you.” She sets the box down near Sadie, who still wrestles with cords. “Your helper’s here.”
Sadie looks up. Our eyes meet, and I catch that flicker, surprise, maybe something gentler, before she smooths it away.
“Hey,” she says, brushing dust from her knees. “I didn’t see you come in.”
“Thought I’d come early,” I say, keeping my voice casual. “Extra pair of hands?”
“We’ve got it.” Her words are brisk, but her gaze slides over the organized chairs and clean tables.
From behind the counter, Finn calls, “Looks like someone’s been busy, unlike some people.” He glances at Mateo, who shrugs without looking up.
Sadie exhales and turns back to the cables. “If you really want to help, I need someone tall to hang string lights.”
I cross the floor slowly, careful not to crowd her. “Sure. Where?”
She hands me a strand of warm white bulbs. Our fingers brush, light, accidental, and I swear I feel a spark up my arm. I step back before I can overthink it.
“Above head height, around the perimeter. Hooks are in place.”
I lift the strand. Sadie’s cheeks color, her breath catching. I notice but say nothing.
I climb a small stepladder and secure the lights. Below me, I see Sadie checking microphone levels, clipboard in hand. She moves with that exacting focus I admire. Every detail matters.
When the last bulb clicks into place, I slide down. Sadie is kneeling by the stage, fingers fumbling through a snarled bundle of mic cables.
“Need a hand?” I crouch beside her, keeping a respectful distance.
She glances up and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “If you can sort this mess, be my guest.”
Our hands hover over the cables, almost touching again. She pulls back first, cheeks tinged pink.
I dive in, untangling one loop at a time. She watches, and in the hush between us, I feel something shift, charged silence, like the calm before a storm.
“Thanks,” she says, voice softer than before. “You didn’t have to come early.”
“I wanted to.” I tie off a knot and straighten the cable. “I like being useful.”
She studies me, curiosity in her eyes. “You’re good at this.”
“Cable management, one of my hidden talents.” I grin, but the warmth in her gaze pins me silent for a heartbeat.
“No, I mean… this.” She gestures around the room, as though encompassing everything we’ve done. “Helping without making it a big deal.”
I catch my breath. Something in my chest loosens, like a knot I didn’t know I’d been hauling around. “Maybe I just like the company.”
For a fraction of a second, our eyes lock. I feel the quickening of her pulse, matching mine. Then I look away, pretend I’m focused on the cables.
