She pulls her phone out of her pocket—because of course she does—and opens her notes app with her free hand. She doesn't let go of my right hand, just adjusts her grip so she can type with her thumb. "Okay. First: who do we tell?"
"Wren," I say immediately. "She already knows something's up. And she'll kill me if I don't tell her."
"Boss Babes," Sam adds, typing quickly against my palm. "Same reason. They've been watching this unfold for weeks."
I shift slightly, angling toward her. "Anyone else?"
"No, I don’t think so. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
She types for another second, then looks up, her expression turning serious. "What about when things get hard? Professionally or personally. How do we handle that?"
I pause, thinking about the last two weeks. The silence. The pulling away. I can't do that to her again. I won't. "We need a sign. Something one of us can say when we're struggling and need to talk."
"Like a safe word?"
I laugh. "Kind of. But less weird."
She taps her thumb against the edge of her phone case, thinking. "What if one of us just says 'I need five minutes'? Noexplanation required. The other person gives space, and then we regroup."
I let the idea settle. Reaching out with my free hand, I grab my coffee from the table. My thumbnail digs into the coffee cup seam, creating a small dent in the cardboard. It gives me a net when my instinct is to bolt. I look at the stack of framed prints still leaning against the wall, then back at her. "Yeah. That works."
She types it in, the screen glowing against our joined hands. "And if we're fighting—personally—we don't bring it into Wednesday prep or Board meetings. We table it until we're off the clock."
"Deal."
Sam stops typing and lowers the phone. She looks at me, her sharp, analytical edges softening entirely. "This is a lot of rules."
I squeeze her hand, my thumb finding the pulse at her wrist. "It's a lot of stakes."
She sets the phone down on the couch cushion beside us. "Are you sure you're okay with this? With... all of it?"
I look at her. Sitting on my couch with her phone out, organizing our relationship into a project deliverable because she needs the structure to feel safe. She's sitting in my half-empty apartment, trusting me with the biggest project of her career because she wants this, too.
The old me would have suffocated in this room. The current me feels like he just found gravity for the first time.
I'm so in. I'll do whatever it takes.
"Yeah," I say softly. "I'm sure."
Her phone screen lights up on the cushion beside us. A calendar notification.
Board Meeting - Wednesday 2pm - Weekly Harbor Project Presentation
Sam's eyes drop to the screen, then back to me. I watch her jaw tighten slightly.
"We can do this," I say, as I slide my thumb over her knuckles once.
She picks up the phone and dismisses the notification with her thumb. "We have to."
Her screen goes dark.
She exhales.
“Come here,” she says quietly.
I lean across the few inches of cushion separating us. She presses a soft, perfect kiss to my lips.
