Page 62 of Falling For My Ex's Older Brother

"The Q2 infrastructure grant allocation creates a natural pilot framework for the AI division's municipal deployment strategy," I say.

"The donor relationships we built around the Hargrove event have direct overlap with the city development contacts the expansion would require. If the timeline aligns we're not building two separate relationship tracks — we're leveraging one."

The room goes quiet for a moment. Clara looks at me. Really looks — the assessment I recognize from Boston,the one that means she's deciding whether what she just heard was as good as she thought it was.

"That's a sharp observation," she says.

"That connection hasn't come up in any of the briefings I've seen on this."

"It's recent," I say. "The Hargrove relationships are only a few months old."

"Still." She looks at Logan.

"Where did you find her?"

Logan holds her gaze.

"She found us," he says.

It's three words. It shouldn't land the way it does. I look down at the document in front of me and I keep my expression entirely neutral and I feel it move through my chest like something warm and permanent. Clara asks me two follow-up questions. I answer both. The meeting moves on.

Afterward, when the room has cleared and it's just the two of us in the corridor, Logan pauses beside me. He doesn't say anything. He looks at me for a moment — something in his expression that goes past a boss's satisfaction, something quieter and more specific that I don't have a clean word for. Then he moves on toward his office. I stand in the corridor for a moment and I go back to my desk.

***

On Friday afternoon I'm between tasks — the lunch briefing wrapped up, theafternoon correspondence filed, a twenty-minute window before Logan's 2:00 that I've been using to review the expansion framework Clara mentioned. My phone buzzes on my desk and I see the name:Caleb.

I feel the specific stillness of someone who registers that a door they thought was closed is opening again. I pick up.

"Hey." His voice is easy. Casual. The particular Caleb register of someone who calls when he's decided to call, without preamble, as if no time has passed.

"Hey," I say. "This is a surprise."

"Yeah, I know. It's been a minute." A pause.

"How's San Francisco treating you?"

"Well. I'm — it's good. Things are good."

"Job still going okay? Logan not running you into the ground?"

There's a light edge on the question. Dressed in humor. I hear it.

"The job is great," I say. "I've learned a lot."

"Good, good." Another pause — slightly longer than the ones before it.

"I actually heard you were in New York a couple weeks ago."

I keep my voice even.

"Foundation gala. It was a work event."

"Right." He says it simply. Then: "My parents mentioned meeting someone at the Hargrove event. A Sutton." His voice stays light. Casual. Every word dressed in exactly the right amount of nothing.

"Small world."

The stone drops into the water. I feel the ripples moving outward from it.