“Is that good or bad?”
I take another bite of the sandwich.
“I don’t know yet.”
She nods and just sits there, shoulder pressed against mine while the deli keeps moving around us.
The booth is too small. The crowd is too loud.
I should feel trapped.
I don’t.
Chapter twenty-two
Sam
The brass bell chimes above the door, cutting through the morning clatter of The Donut.
I look up from the napkin I've been actively shredding into tiny white pieces. Tom walks through the door, and an immediate, involuntary breathe leaves my lungs.
"Thanks for coming," I say as he reaches the table.
He pulls out the chair opposite me and sits, unzipping his jacket. "I got your text. Talk to me."
I adjust my coffee mug, sliding it around the table like a chess piece. "Why are you so calm?" I say, the words snapping out sharper than I intend.
Tom leans back in his chair, looking completely unbothered. He looks like a guy grabbing a casual Wednesday coffee, not a guy who is thirty minutes away from presenting to a multi-million dollar development board.
"Because we worked through it," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You were definitely scarier playing the skeptical investor on Wednesday than the Board will actually be today."
I stop fidgeting. I stare at him.
"Jerk," I say.
But I start laughing. I can't help it. My shoulders drop an inch.
"Samantha!"
Margit marches toward our table like a woman on a mission, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted apron. Her sharp eyes zero in on me immediately.
"What is with you?" she demands. "You vibrate like my old refrigerator before it died." She gestures toward Tom with a raised eyebrow, inspecting him. "Is it this handsome gentleman here?"
I groan and drop my forehead into my palm. "Margit. Please."
Tom chuckles, a low, easy sound. "Margit," he says, flashing her a weaponized version of his grin. "Are you hitting on me?"
Margit actually blushes, swatting his shoulder lightly with her towel. "If I was younger... but no, my heart belongs to my Istvan."
I sit up straight. "Tom and I work together. We have an important presentation, and I was just having a minor meltdown."
Margit turns to Tom. Her expression shifts from playful to assessing. "Are you worried?"
Tom shakes his head. "I was two days ago. But we worked very hard on the presentation. It's good." He looks at me. "And she's going to do great."
Margit nods once, satisfied. She fixes me with a pointed look. "You come back and put something on the wall."
She walks away before I can respond.
