I step to the side, far enough to give her space but close enough that she can find me if she needs to. I watch her talk, watch her explain the connectivity angles and the pedestrian flow, watch her light up when someone asks a question that lets her dig into the details she loves most.
In two hours, I'm going to walk her from her exhibit to mine.
And explain why I didn't tell her.
Chapter fifty
Sam
Tom's standing near the far wall, and the room narrows to just him.
Voices layer around me—someone laughing near the wine table, heels clicking on concrete—but my eyes track him through the shifting bodies. Navy suit, white shirt open at the collar, hands in his pockets like he's trying not to reach for his camera.
He sees me at the same second.
His posture changes. Shoulders drop half an inch, jaw releases, and he starts moving through the crowd like there's a clear path even though there isn't.
I step forward and a woman in a gray blazer shifts left without looking. Someone else moves their wine glass out of the way. The hum of fifty people packed into a gallery meant for thirty builds around us but I don't hear words, just the low constant noise.
We meet near the center of the room.
Tom stops close. His hand finds mine, fingers lacing with mine.
"How are you holding up?" he asks quietly.
His thumb brushes my knuckles, then stills.
I open my mouth to answer, but a hand touches my elbow.
"Ms. Morgan?" A man in his sixties, salt-and-pepper beard, tortoiseshell glasses. "I had a question about the connectivity framework."
Tom's fingers slip from mine immediately, giving me space.
I glance at him once more. He nods toward the boards.
I turn and let the man guide me back toward the display wall.
The boards are lit from above with soft halogen spots. My design look sharp—clean lines, the Harbor District waterfront glowing at dusk.
The man with the tortoiseshell glasses leans closer to the northwest corner detail.
“You’ve pushed the cars out to the perimeter,” he says. “And pulled people toward the waterfront.”
I nod. “The site works better that way.”
He gestures to the rendering. “But that’s a financial gamble in a district built on retail.”
I step closer to the board.
“When people slow down, they stay longer,” I say. “The cafés fill. The shops stay open later. The neighborhood becomes somewhere people spend time instead of somewhere they pass through.”
He studies the drawing another moment.
“That’s interesting.”
Someone beside him murmurs agreement.
Tom's standing three feet to my left, outside the conversation, watching.
