“You’re welcome,” I said, already brushing off my hands.
Her mouth opened like she wanted to argue, but I didn’t give her the chance.
I moved down the line, adjusting a banner that was hanging crooked, untangling a cable some intern nearly tripped over, shifting a table two inches to the left so it actually lined up with the backdrop. Someone had taped a sponsor logo upside down, so I fixed that too.
Half the crew froze, watching me like I’d sprouted another head.
“Hey,” one of the volunteers finally said, grinning, “you’ve done this before?”
“No,” I said, tugging another banner straight. “Just not an idiot.”
That got a few laughs, the tension breaking a little. Someone even handed me a roll of tape like I’d been promoted to team lead.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Ellery watching me. Clipboard in hand, lips parted in something halfway between confusion and amusement.
“I thought you hated PR work,” she said finally, crossing her arms.
“I do.”
She tilted her head. “Then why?—”
“Optics,” I cut in. “Don’t get used to it.”
For a second, her expression stayed unreadable—then the faintest smile curved at the corner of her mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I turned back to the banner, pretending I didn’t notice, but the way she said it lingered longer than it should’ve.
The next few minutes fell into a strange rhythm. She called out instructions, and I followed—not because I had to, but because it made things move faster. I helped a volunteer lift one of the photo backdrops into place, adjusted lighting stands, even handed out bottled water when someone complained they were dying of thirst.
Every time I caught her looking, I told myself it didn’t mean anything.
But it did.
Not in the usual way—not the flirty, easy kind of thing I was used to. This felt… steadier. Heavier. The kind of look someone gives when they’re trying to figure out what had changed and couldn’t quite name it.
I wasn’t sure what the hell was changing either.
All I knew was that it felt good to do something. To move, fix, lift. No cameras, no noise—just hands-on work that made the chaos shrink for a minute.
When the last banner finally hung straight, I stepped back, rolling my shoulders. “There. Your circus looks less like a disaster now.”
Ellery’s laugh slipped out—quiet but real. “You’re a natural.”
“Don’t say that too loud,” I muttered. “Cam’ll start putting me on payroll.”
Her smile widened, soft but sharp. “Maybe you’re not as allergic to teamwork as you think.”
“Don’t push it.”
She just shook her head and turned away, hiding the grin I wasn’t supposed to see.
And for reasons I didn’t want to unpack, that almost made the whole circus worth it.
We fell into an easy rhythm before I realized it.
The chaos that had swallowed the gym earlier started to quiet—still busy, still loud, but no longer frantic. People moved with purpose now instead of panic. I’d like to think I had something to do with that, though I wasn’t about to say it out loud.
Ellery worked beside me, flipping through checklists, calling out directions to volunteers, typing notes on her phone between sentences. She did three things at once without breaking stride. The kind of focus that could probably rebuild Rome if you handed her a clipboard and a roll of duct tape.
