I swallow, suddenly aware of the warmth of his hand against mine.
“Thanks to Margit and Tristan butting their noses in.”
Tom’s smile softens. He gives my hand one reassuring squeeze, then lets go.
“Seriously,” he says. “Do you feel better?”
I meet his eyes. "Yes."
"Okay, then." Tom stands and extends his hand to help me up. "Why don't we go set up early? Do any last-minute rehearsing."
I look at his outstretched hand, then up at his face. I take it and let him pull me to my feet.
"Last-minute rehearsing? Why, Tom Bennett—am I rubbing off on you?"
His grin is quick and easy. "Don't let it go to your head."
***
The elevator ride up to the Developer's floor is silent. Tom leans against the back wall, hands in his pockets, watching the numbers climb. I watch my reflection in the polished metal doors, checking my blazer, checking my expression.
When the doors slide open, the hum of the office hits us.
The conference room is already set up—long table, projector humming, water glasses catching the overhead light. My nerves from The Donut have settled into a sharp, clear focus.
As we set our materials down, Tom leans in close enough that I can smell his coffee.
"We've got this," he says.
I nod, trusting him more than my voice.
The Board files in. Everyone takes their seats. Castellano crosses his arms immediately. The Developer sits at the head of the table, expectant.
Tom and I stand at the front of the room, side by side. We've done this dance before, but this time, the energy is completely different. I am hyper-aware of the space between us—barely six inches. If I shifted my weight, our shoulders would touch.
I begin.
I walk the Board through the site strategy and the way the neighborhood connects to the waterfront. My voice stays steady, but I can feel Tom beside me—a solid presence.
When I reach the pedestrian section, I gesture toward the screen.
“So the café and green space create places people actually stop instead of just walking through.”
Tom picks it up without missing a beat.
“Which means people stay longer,” he says. “The light hits this section of the plaza in the afternoon, so the sightlines draw people toward it.”
I glance at him, surprised.
He isn’t looking at the Board. He’s focused on the screen, calm, perfectly in sync with where I was going.
He transitions into the visual strategy. I watch him work—the way his hands move when he talks, the quiet authority in hisvoice. He isn’t reciting specs. He’s describing what it feels like to walk through the space at dusk.
The Board leans forward.
A Board member raises a hand. “How does the visual concept align with the market positioning?”
I glance at Tom. He’s already looking at me. A flicker of a smile touches the corner of his mouth.
