Wow.
Her hair is twisted into a low knot at the nape of her neck, leaving the line of her throat exposed. The dress skims from shoulder to mid-calf, matte and structured, no shine.
She's talking to a small cluster of people near her boards, hands moving as she explains something. Confident. Precise. Completely in her element.
I pull in a steady breath. Loosen my grip on the program before I crease it permanently. My pulse is still hammering, but I make myself move.
I step into the gallery and head toward her.
She doesn't see me yet. She's mid-sentence, gesturing toward one of the renderings, and the man beside her is nodding, leaning in to look closer at the detail she's pointing out.
I stop a few feet away, just outside the circle, and wait.
She finishes her sentence, smiles at something the man says, then glances up.
Her eyes find mine.
Then she smiles.
Not the polite, professional smile she was giving the man beside her.
I cross the last few feet and stop beside her. Close enough that I can see the small crease at the corner of her mouth, the way her shoulders relax half an inch when I arrive.
"Hey," she says quietly.
"Hey."
Her hand brushes mine, fingers curling briefly around my wrist before she lets go.
The man beside her clears his throat. Sam blinks, refocuses, and introduces me. I shake hands, say something polite, but I'm not tracking the conversation. I'm watching the way Sam's posture shifts when she talks about her work—straighter, steadier, like she's finally letting people see what she's been building all this time.
The small group moves on after a few minutes, and Sam exhales.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah." She glances at me, then at the boards behind her. "I think so."
I take her in for a second.
"You look amazing."
Her cheeks flush. "Tom."
"I mean it."
She looks down, smooths the front of her dress even though it doesn't need smoothing. "Thank you."
She's got another hour of this—people asking questions, making introductions, building connections.
"I should let you get back to it," I say.
She nods, but her hand finds mine again. A brief squeeze. Her thumb brushes my wrist once.
"Stay close?" she asks.
"I'm not going anywhere."
She holds my gaze for a second longer, then turns back toward the boards as another couple approaches.
