He’s tall from this distance, all straight lines and broad shoulders in a navy T-shirt that does nothing to hide how much time he spends at the gym. Unlike me, everything seems to obey this man. His dark hair is pushed back, his stubble neat, and a black watch snug on his wrist. He’s exactly the kind of guy I roll my eyes at in the city… and exactly the kind my body turns toward anyway.
“Welcome, welcome!” An amplified voice booms from the front podium. “To The FI Escape!”
I clap along with everyone else, the forced energy reminding me of a high school pep rally. Karen’s name tag, the founder worship, the too-bright enthusiasm….
Is this a cult?
Cool, cool. As long as they don’t start passing out the punch, I’m good.
“I’m Bart,” the man at the lectern continues, “and this is the fifth Bay Area Escape. Any other five-timers out there?”
There’s a couple of enthusiastic shouts and claps, followed by chuckles.
“What about first-timers?” Bart asks.
I join Karen and several others in raising hands, my applause noticeably less fervent but hopefully not so subdued it draws unwanted attention from my fellow cultists.
“Whether you’re already FIRE’d, just starting, or in the ‘boring middle’”—Bart pauses for effect—“we all have friends and family telling us we’re chasing something crazy.”
His laugh makes others follow, and I add a tight nod and smile, careful not to make eye contact. Okay, Cult Leader Bart. Got it.
“But financial independence is a worthy pursuit,” he goes on. “This room is filled with people who get it.”
Everyone nods, faces lit with that shared sense of belonging.
Do I get it? Do I want to? My jaw aches from holding the smile in place, but I don’t dare drop it when everyone else is so… pumped.
“We’ll keep it light during the kickoff, because today is all about making connections,” Bart says. “But I’m very excited to introduce…” He lets anticipation build.
I tune him out and lean toward Karen. “Psst. Karen.”
She looks annoyed but tilts her head closer. “Yes?”
“You keep saying FIRE,” I whisper. “But what do the R and E stand for?”
Her expression softens into something almost maternal. “Financial Independence, Retire Early.”
Uh-oh.
I straighten, the puzzle pieces snapping into place. I replay my whole conversation with Ash in fast-forward, cringe, mutter an apology to my other neighbor, and start edging my way out of the row.
“Co-host of the new high-growth financial podcast,Skinny Fat FIRE, Asher Pierce!” Bart announces, his voice booming.
“Sorry,” I whisper, stepping on someone’s foot. “Excuse me, just need to get through…”
The audience erupts into applause, but I’m the only one standing.
“Looks like I’ve scared someone off already.” Ash’s amplified voice fills the space, and when his eyes land on me, his expression flickers from joking to something more like hurt. “I’m kidding,” he adds quickly. “No bathroom pass required.”
My cheeks go red hot. Of course he’d call it out. Of course they’d all look. A few people laugh, but most just watch my awkward shuffle through the packed row.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “Just… booked the…”
My sketchpad, rolled tight in my fist, bumps knees as I squeeze past. My chest tightens, and a quick, high-pitched laugh squeaks out of me.
“Let’s get started,” Ash says, voice smoothing back into host mode.
But his eyes stay on me. The murmur of the crowd dulls, and under his confidence the room shrinks until it’s just the two of us with his broad shoulders and easy stance behind the lectern. I owe him an explanation.
