Then I see him.
Tom's standing near my display, one hand shading his eyes as he looks up at the track lighting. He's talking to someone in a League staff shirt, gesturing toward one of the fixtures.
I walk over.
"Tom?"
He turns. For half a second, he looks caught. Then he smiles.
"Hey."
I stop a few feet away, confused but smiling back. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to make sure the lighting on your exhibit was good."
I blink. "You... came here to check my lighting?"
"Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at the track again. "The League uses tungsten fixtures, and if they're angled wrong, your portfolio boards are going to glare. I talked to the tech crew about adjusting the spots."
I just stare at him.
He drops his hand, looking at me now instead of the lights. "I know it sounds—"
"Tom." My voice comes out softer than I meant. "That's really sweet."
He shifts his weight, hands sliding into his pockets. "If people are going to see your work, they should see it the right way."
My chest tightens. I step closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to look at him.
"Thank you."
"Yeah. Of course."
A beat. I'm looking at him, and he's looking back, and I'm trying to figure out why he's really here.
"You nervous?" he asks.
"A little. It's... a lot of people. A lot of visibility."
"You'll be great."
My hand moves before I think about it. I reach out and squeeze his hand once.
"I should finish my walkthrough," I say.
"Yeah. Go."
I start to walk away. Then I stop, looking back over my shoulder.
"Tom?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you'll be there."
His expression softens. "There's nowhere else I'd be."
I hold his gaze for another second. Then I turn and walk toward the far wall, my footsteps echoing in the quiet space.
