Page 90 of Sunny Skies Ahead
I hung the badge around my neck and made my way to the elevator, pressing the up button and stepping back to wait. When they opened, Kameron was standing in the elevator, arms crossed over his chest. I stepped inside, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
“There you are,” Kameron said, smirking as the doors shut behind us. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I told you I planned to be here at late,” I said, smiling. “Presentations don’t start for another hour.”
“Yeah, well, I just threw up because I’m so nervous, and seeing your face an hour earlier would have done me a world of good.”
“I’m here now,” I said, reaching for his hand and linking our fingers together. Kameron’s wobbly, excitedly nervous smile made my heart stutter. The elevator doors opened, and we exited together. I reluctantly let go of his hand now that we were around other people.
“So, what’s the plan?”
“We got an overview of the Warrior’s Foundation and their mission this morning. We have a few minutes of reset time before the brunch hour starts.”
I grimaced. “Surely they’re not making you mingle with the other organizations competing for the grant?”
“All in the name of community,” Kameron said, quoting part of the foundation’s mission statement. I sighed.
“Have you talked with the other executive directors?”
“Not yet,” Kameron said. “We’re the only nonprofit here that deals directly with veterans. One nonprofit advocates for teenagers and young adults facing cancer, and the other works directly with children rescued from the sex trafficking industry.
I let out a long breath.
“Both are good causes,” I said.
“They’reallgood causes,” Kameron said as we started walking towards the large glass doors that led into a large conference room. “That’s what makes the nonprofit grant process so grueling. I don’t envy the selection committee. This grant is a big deal, and any of the three nonprofits could change hundreds of lives with more support.”
Upon entering the room, men and women in suits immediately surrounded us. I felt slightly underdressed in my white button up, knit cardigan, and slacks, but I also wouldn’t be at the front of the room for the presentation. I’d be in the room, but towards the back.
“You must be Kameron Miller,” one gentleman said, extending a hand to Kam. “I’m Jackson Smithfield, executive director of. . .”
Jackson immediately launched into his elevator speech about the nonprofit he worked for and their mission, all while guiding Kameron towards the refreshment station. Kameronbriefly looked back over his shoulder at me, and I gave him a small wave of encouragement.
He only had to survive small talk for this next hour. When the presentations finished, we would be free to go. I’d never been more excited about the prospect of heading back to the tiny house. I’d be ready to hibernate for a week after the amount of socializing I’d need to do today.
I turned to walk towards the outer rim of people when I bumped into a familiar body. Lucas had finally deigned to show up.
“Really? This is the day you decide to show up late?”
“I had a late night,” was all Lucas said.
I wanted to strangle him, but I politely refrained from messing up his beautifully pressed button up.
Kameron’s loud laugh reached my ears, and I turned toward his voice, watching with amusement as he made a beeline for the water station. I pushed past the throng of people to get to him, knowing Lucas could stand on his own. He was far better at mingling than either of us was.
“Hey,” I said. Kameron turned to face me and I saw the panic etched into the sharp lines of his bearded face.
Without considering where we were or who was watching, I slid my fingers into between his, squeezing firmly. A reminder of everything we’d shared the previous night.
“You’ve got this.”
“You’ll be in the room, right?” Kameron asked, his eyes searching mine. I smiled and nodded.
“I’ll be towards the back, following along. Specifically, I’ll be making sure the slideshow is matched to what you’re saying.”
Kameron let out a small laugh and leaned closer to me, our chests brushing. If anyone was watching—and someone undoubtedly was, given how packed the room was—I knew we looked more like lovers than we did coworkers.
“Imogen? Is that you?”
