I'm staying.
I just need to figure out how to keep doing it when the Harbor project ends and there's no deadline holding me here.
Chapter thirty
Sam
Iunbutton the top button of my navy silk blouse, smooth the collar flat, and re-button it so it sits perfectly centered on the hanger. Then I do the same thing to the light blue one. I’ve been systematically rotating my closet by color gradient for twenty minutes.
It’s productive. And it keeps me from turning around to check my phone sitting on the bed behind me.
My phone buzzes on the dresser.
I set down the cardigan and cross the room, pick up the phone. Two texts from Tom, both timestamped 2:47 PM.
My idea for tonight needed good weather. Could I get a rain check?
Sorry for the terrible pun.
I read both messages twice. Set the phone face-down. Wait.
I count to thirty in my head, fingers drumming against the wood surface. Pick up the phone again. No follow-up text. No"How about tomorrow instead?" No "Want to come over and watch something?"
Nothing.
I open the message thread and type:Want to just stay in and watch something?
Then I highlight it, character by character, and delete it.
If he wanted to see me tonight, he'd suggest something. He knows how.
No problem. Rain check it is.
His reply comes fast.
Thanks. Talk soon.
I stare at the screen.Talk soon.Not "tomorrow" or "this week" or "I'll call you later." Justtalk soon.
I set the phone back on the dresser and return to the closet.
I move three sweaters from the left side of the shelf to the right. Then I move them back. My hands are busy but my mind is tracking the pattern: canceled plans, no alternative, vague language.
Plans change. Weather happens. People get busy. But my chest feels tight. I sit on the edge of my bed.
Something is off.
***
Tom's laptop is already open when I arrive at the Harbor site office Monday morning, the presentation deck loaded on the makeshift plywood table. Next to hm is my oat milk latte, extra shot, in a cup that's still the right temperature when I take my first sip.
He smiles when he handed it to me.
Everything looks normal.
We’re reviewing the latest drone footage for Thursday’s board meeting — the overhead shot showing how people move from the apartments down to the waterfront. I scroll to the slide that shows how the neighborhood connects to the harbor and tilt my laptop so he can see the new layout.
"What do you think?" I ask.
