Chapter 48
Chapter forty-eight
Sam
"Did you pin your acceptance letter to the wall yet?"
Liv’s voice cuts through the steam rising from my latte. I set the cup down too fast and coffee sloshes over the rim onto the saucer.
"I—no, I haven't."
Priya leans forward, tearing a corner off her croissant with one hand while the other taps the table in a rapid staccato. "Sam. It's been a week."
"I've been busy."
"Doing what?" Nadia doesn't look up from her phone. Her thumb scrolls methodically through what looks like a spreadsheet. "You already submitted the portfolio. The exhibition opens Friday. What's left to be busy with?"
Friday. Eleven days until the Architectural League opens their doors and my work goes on display in front of press, judges, and donors.
I reach for my coffee.
"Final logistics," I say. "Making sure the display boards are mounted right. Confirming the lighting doesn't wash out the renderings. Checking that the layout flows the way I want it to."
Liv sips her tea, watching me over the rim. "You already did all of that."
"I'm double-checking."
I open my mouth to argue. Nadia's phone buzzes. She glances at the screen, then back at me.
She sets the phone down, screen facing me. "Stop treating this like a crisis and start treating it like a win."
Tristan crosses from the counter, balancing a tray of pastries. He sets it down in the center of our table, then leans on the back of Priya's chair.
"Don't make me get Margit on you to pin that letter up," he says, looking directly at me.
Priya snorts into her coffee. Liv laughs. I roll my eyes but I'm smiling.
Tristan tilts his head, studying me.
Grins.
"So. Is this glow just about the exhibition? Or is there someone else putting that smile on your face?"
He winks at the table. Then he walks away.
My face goes hot.
The table erupts.
"Oh my," Priya says, voice pitching up. "You're BLUSHING."
"I am not—"
"You absolutely are," Liv says.
Priya leans back in her chair, arms crossed, grinning. "Tristan's not wrong. You've been glowing for weeks."
I press my palms flat against the table. "Can we not—"
"We absolutely can," Priya says. She tears off another piece of croissant, pointing it at me like evidence. "You show up on time now. You laugh at bad jokes. You haven't color-coded a single thing in months."
"That's not—"
"It's Tom," Nadia says.
I close my mouth.
Priya slaps the table. "I KNEW IT."
"You already knew it," I say.
"Yeah, but now you're GLOWING about it," Maya says. "That's different."
Liv sets her tea down carefully. "It's a good look on you."
I pick up my coffee, take a sip, set it back down.
Priya's grin widens. She leans forward, elbows on the table, chin in her hands. "Okay. Real talk. What are you wearing to the exhibition?"
I blink. "What?"
"Your outfit," she says slowly, like I'm missing something obvious. "Friday night. Gallery full of people. Cameras. Judges. What are you wearing?"
My mind goes blank.
"I... haven't thought about it."
Nadia's head snaps up. "Sam."
"What? I've been focused on the work, not—"
"Sweetie." Liv's voice is flat. "You're going to have your picture taken. This is a BIG DEAL. You need to own that camera."
"And," Priya says, tapping the table again for emphasis, "it's not just about looking professional. This dress needs to make Tom lose his mind."
"PRIYA."
She's grinning so wide her eyes are watering. "What? I'm just being efficient. We get you the right dress, Tom proposes faster, and then we can find boyfriends for these two."
She jerks her thumb toward Nadia and Liv.
Nadia chokes on her coffee. Liv covers her mouth with one hand. Priya's still grinning.
I cover my face with both hands. "You are insane."
"You skipped several steps," Nadia says, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
Liv lowers her hand, expression perfectly neutral. "Also consent."
The table loses it. Nadia's head drops to her hands. Priya slaps the table hard enough to rattle the cups. Liv's laughing so hard she's tearing up. I'm gasping for air, ribs aching.
"You're all insane," I manage.
Priya wipes her eyes. "We're your people."
I shake my head, still smiling.
"Okay," Priya says, voice shifting back to business mode. "We're taking you shopping."
"And to my hair stylist," Nadia adds.
"And you need a makeup consultation," Liv says.
"I don't need—"
Liv raises one eyebrow. "We're maximizing the assets."
Everyone stops.
Priya stares at Liv. "Did YOU just say that?"
Nadia sets her coffee down slowly. "That's something Priya would say."
Liv shrugs, lifts her tea. "What? It's accurate."
I laugh, shaking my head. "Fine. But I'm not wearing anything with sequins."
"Deal," Priya says immediately. She pulls out her phone, fingers already moving. "I'm texting you three boutiques. We're hitting all of them Saturday morning. Nine AM. No excuses."
I nod. My phone buzzes against the table.
Tom
How's the war council?
I smile before I can stop myself.
They're planning a shopping intervention.
Three dots appear immediately.
Should I be worried?
Priya says the dress has to make you lose your mind.
The dots pause.
Mission already accomplished.
I set the phone down, staring at the screen.
***
Saturday morning, Priya yanks four dresses off the rack before I've finished taking off my coat. Nadia's texting her stylist in the corner. Liv vetoes the first three options without looking up from her phone.
"Too structured," she says. "You'll look like you're going to a deposition."
Priya tosses the rejected dresses onto a chair and pulls another. "Try this."
I take it into the fitting room. The fabric is soft, the neckline clean. I pull it on, adjust the fit, and step back out.
Liv glances up. Nods once. "Better."
Nadia looks up from her phone. "Hair down. Soft waves. You want approachable but powerful."
My phone buzzes in my bag.
Tom
How's it going?
I type back one-handed while Priya circles me, tugging at the hemline.
They're making me try on everything in the store.
You'll look great.
Priya's exact words were "make you lose your mind."
Three dots.
Already there.
I stare at the screen.
"SAM." Priya's voice cuts through. "Are you texting him RIGHT NOW?"
I slip the phone back into my bag. "No."
"Liar," Nadia says without looking up.
I try on two more. The second one fits perfectly—clean lines, soft white fabric, nothing flashy. I step out of the fitting room and all three of them stop talking.
Priya grins. "That's the one."
***
Wednesday afternoon, I walk into the Architectural League gallery alone.
The space is empty, quiet except for the hum of track lights overhead.
Display walls line the perimeter, most still bare.
Mine is in the corner, portfolio boards already mounted, everything is positioned exactly where I specified.
I stop in the center of the room, turning slowly. Light pours through the tall windows on the east wall, cutting sharp angles across the floor.
Then I see him.
Tom's standing near my display, one hand shading his eyes as he looks up at the track lighting. He's talking to someone in a League staff shirt, gesturing toward one of the fixtures.
I walk over.
"Tom?"
He turns. For half a second, he looks caught. Then he smiles.
"Hey."
I stop a few feet away, confused but smiling back. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to make sure the lighting on your exhibit was good."
I blink. "You... came here to check my lighting?"
"Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at the track again. "The League uses tungsten fixtures, and if they're angled wrong, your portfolio boards are going to glare. I talked to the tech crew about adjusting the spots."
I just stare at him.
He drops his hand, looking at me now instead of the lights. "I know it sounds—"
"Tom." My voice comes out softer than I meant. "That's really sweet."
He shifts his weight, hands sliding into his pockets. "If people are going to see your work, they should see it the right way."
My chest tightens. I step closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to look at him.
"Thank you."
"Yeah. Of course."
A beat. I'm looking at him, and he's looking back, and I'm trying to figure out why he's really here.
"You nervous?" he asks.
"A little. It's... a lot of people. A lot of visibility."
"You'll be great."
My hand moves before I think about it. I reach out and squeeze his hand once.
"I should finish my walkthrough," I say.
"Yeah. Go."
I start to walk away. Then I stop, looking back over my shoulder.
"Tom?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you'll be there."
His expression softens. "There's nowhere else I'd be."
I hold his gaze for another second. Then I turn and walk toward the far wall, my footsteps echoing in the quiet space.
When I glance back, he's still watching.
***
That night, the dress hangs on my closet door. The soft white fabric stands out against the dark wood, clean and simple.
I look at it for a long moment, arms crossed.
Good, I think. I'll stand out against all the dark suits. Usually, I let the work go in first and speak for me.
I adjust the hanger, so it sits perfectly centered on the door.
I step back, shoulders loose.
This time, they're going to remember me too.
I turn off the light.