Chapter 6 #2
“Only until dusk unless conditions are perfect. After that, walking route. We put portable lighting at every grade change, first aid here, warming tent if it’s cold enough, two generator backups.”
“You’ve already planned all of this.”
“I’ve run it five years.”
“Northspan doesn’t need to improve it.”
She glances at me.
“That sounded almost painful for you.”
“I’m adapting.”
“Good.”
She crouches beside a junction box mounted to a post and checks the weather cover.
I watch her work.
There is something unfair about being attracted to competence because Nora possesses enough of it to create a permanent condition.
“What?” she asks without looking up.
“Nothing.”
“You are staring.”
“I’m observing.”
“Corporate euphemism.”
She stands and brushes dirt from her fingers.
“Say it.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
Her expression changes.
It is not embarrassment.
Something more complicated.
“Landon used to say that right before ignoring me.”
“I won’t.”
“I know.”
Two quiet words.
They hit harder than praise should.
We start walking again.
At the next bend, Northspan’s temporary production office is visible across the lawn. Priya stands outside talking to Landon beside a stack of road cases.
He sees us.
Specifically, he sees Nora and me walking alone before eight in the morning.
His face remains pleasant.
His posture does not.
Nora notices because of course she does.
“You don’t need to perform,” I say quietly.
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
She slips her hand into mine.
I look down.
“Public?”
“Technically.”
“Do you want to?”
Her fingers tighten.
“Yes.”
That one word produces an amount of satisfaction no quarterly result has ever managed.
We keep walking.
Landon looks away first.
I dislike how much I enjoy that.
Not because I want to beat him.
Because I want Nora’s hand for reasons that have nothing to do with him, and some primitive part of me is pleased he can see the difference.
That part of me probably needs supervision.
Priya waves us over.
“Since you’re both here, I have a scheduling problem.”
Nora releases my hand as we approach, which is sensible.
I miss it immediately, which is less sensible.
Priya holds out her tablet.
“Agency wants Thursday morning for the apparel shoot because Friday’s weather moved.”
“Where?” Nora asks.
“South lawn.”
“No.”
Jeremy, who is standing behind Priya with a coffee, closes his eyes.
I almost admire the predictability.
Priya says, “Alternative?”
“North edge of the picnic lawn until ten. After ten, you lose it to public setup. Or west meadow if your vehicles stay on the service side.”
Jeremy says, “The meadow doesn’t have the backdrop.”
“The backdrop is Vermont. I promise we own several angles.”
He looks at me.
Again.
I say nothing.
Nora catches me doing it.
Her mouth twitches.
Jeremy exhales.
“Picnic lawn until ten.”
“Great,” Nora says. “See how painless democracy can be?”
Landon smiles.
“You always did enjoy winning the room.”
Nora turns toward him.
“I enjoy leaving meetings with a decision.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“I know.”
The old familiarity is there again, threaded through irritation.
I can see how they once worked.
That realization is unpleasant but useful.
Landon is not incompetent. Nora did not spend years loving an idiot. He understands events, reads rooms quickly, and knows enough about her to hit old patterns even when he does not intend to.
It would be easy to reduce him into something I can dismiss.
Nora deserves better than that.
Priya moves on to power access.
My phone vibrates twice.
Cameron.
Then again.
Cameron.
I step away.
“Three calls means emergency?” Nora asks.
“Two.”
“Go.”
I answer.
“What?”
“Good morning to you too.”
“You called twice.”
“Celeste has an appearance in Manchester on Thursday.”
I look across the lawn at Nora.
She is explaining the generator route to Priya.
“Manchester, Vermont?”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
“It was posted ten minutes ago. A home-goods brand is doing a pop-up with a retailer there. Her team says the timing was already under discussion.”
“Do you believe them?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She’s right.
Manchester is not Bellweather, but it is close enough for every headline writer with internet access to put Celeste, Grant, Vermont, and reunion into the same sentence.
“Has she contacted me?”
“No.”
“Northspan?”
“Not since yesterday.”
“Then we do nothing.”
“That was my recommendation.”
“I’ll tell Nora.”
“Grant.”
“Yes?”
“Ask whether she wants to know first.”
I close my eyes.
Of course.
“I hate that you are useful.”
“I’ve built a career on it.”
I hang up.
Nora looks over immediately.
Her attention reads me from thirty feet away.
I wait until Priya finishes, then nod toward the path.
“Can I talk to you?”
“That sentence has never improved a morning, but sure.”
We step away from the group.
“Do you want updates about Celeste when they might affect what people say about us, or only if she directly enters our situation?”
Nora studies me.
I can see her notice the question itself.
“That specific?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“She has a brand appearance in Manchester Thursday.”
Her eyebrows go up.
“Convenient.”
“Possibly coincidental.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I don’t know.”
She nods.
No jealousy performance.
No claim on me.
Some unreasonable part of me wants one.
I ignore it because wanting a woman to feel threatened so I can feel desired is behavior I would fire from senior management.
“How close?” she asks.
“About forty minutes, depending on traffic.”
“In leaf season, that means anywhere from forty minutes to the heat death of the universe.”
“I assume people will speculate.”
“People are still asking me what kind of shampoo you use.”
I stare at her.
“Who?”
“Two volunteers and a woman buying maple syrup.”
“What did you say?”
“That I hoped soap.”
I laugh.
Nora smiles, then sobers.
“Are you okay?”
The question surprises me.
Most people ask what I am going to do.
Nora asks whether I am okay.
“I don’t like it.”
“Her being nearby?”
“The story starting before anything has actually happened.”
She nods slowly.
“That’s your version of my email refresh.”
“What?”
“Trying to get control before reality has committed to a shape.”
I look at her.
“I don’t refresh.”
“Grant.”
“Fine.”
She touches my wrist.
It is a small gesture.
Private enough that nobody watching would understand what it means.
“I don’t need you to stop the story before Thursday,” she says. “If she shows up here, we deal with it. If she doesn’t, we don’t borrow the problem.”
I have paid consultants staggering amounts of money for advice less useful than that.
“Okay.”
“Look at us. Emotional maturity before nine.”
“It feels premature.”
“Very.”
Her phone buzzes in her jacket.
She takes it out.
The color leaves her face.
My body reacts before my brain does.
“What?”
She looks at the screen.
Then she makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a gasp.
“Not bad.”
I exhale.
“Good.”
“No, I mean, possibly very good.”
She turns the phone toward me, then jerks it back.
“Wait.”
I stop.
Nora looks at me, breathing faster now.
“I want to read it first.”
“Of course.”
She steps away.
I do not follow.
This is harder than it should be.
I can see only the top of the email and the movement of her eyes as she reads. Once. Twice.
Then she presses the phone against her chest.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Nora?”
She laughs.
A real one.
Bright enough that Priya looks over from across the lawn.
“Lydia didn’t wait until Wednesday.”
“The automated reply?”
“She is apparently capable of both traveling and having email, a technological miracle.”
“What did she say?”
Nora’s smile is huge now.
“She asked if I’m taking clients again because they’re planning a January leadership retreat at a lodge outside Stowe. They haven’t hired production yet. She wants a proposal.”
I feel an immediate surge of pride so strong that the word is dangerous.
Pride can sound like ownership.
This is hers.
So I give her the only thing that belongs to me.
“That’s fantastic.”
“It isn’t a client yet.”
“No.”
“It’s a proposal request.”
“Yes.”
“I could still lose it.”
“Yes.”
She stares at me.
“You’re supposed to tell me I’m definitely going to get it.”
“Do you want me to?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t.”
She starts laughing again.
I grin.
I cannot help it.
Nora looks at the screen another time.
“I need pricing.”
“You have pricing.”
“I have fake pricing in Definitely Not a Business Plan.”
“Then you have a draft.”
“I need insurance quotes updated. Staffing assumptions. Travel costs. The lodge layout.”
“You know how to get those?”
She gives me an offended look.
“Obviously.”
“Then what do you need?”
Her mouth opens.
Closes.
She looks back toward the market.
“Coffee.”
“I can provide coffee.”
“That sounds financially dangerous.”
“May I buy you a coffee?”
She considers it with theatrical gravity.
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“And a doughnut.”
“Predatory.”
“I am exploiting your wealth.”
“Local pricing.”
She laughs.
We walk toward the market.
Halfway there, Landon steps into our path.
Not literally blocking it.
Close enough to speak.
“I heard,” he says.
Nora stops.
“Heard what?”
“Lydia Cross.”
Her expression closes by degrees.
I understand immediately that this is not news she intended to share with him.
“How?”
“She emailed me last month asking whether Price had capacity for the retreat. We couldn’t make the dates work.”
Nora’s excitement dims.
Only slightly.
Enough to make me dislike the next ten seconds before they happen.
Landon looks genuinely pleased.
“That’s a good project, Nor. You’d be great for it.”
“Nora.”
He catches himself.
“Right. Sorry.”
She says nothing.
He continues, “If you need crew numbers or vendor history from the events we did for Lydia, I can send them.”
Nora’s eyes narrow.
“I won’t use Price’s proprietary information.”
“I’m not talking about proprietary information. I’m talking about what you already built.”
The sentence lands.
I see it.
So does he.
For once, Landon does not rush to fill the silence.
“You built most of the staffing model we used with her,” he says. “The old sheets were yours too. I’m not going to pretend they weren’t because we’re not together.”
Nora’s shoulders relax by half an inch.
“Thank you.”