“Staff can enter?” I asked.
“Staff are encouraged to enter,” Blake said. “Any employee relationship or judging conflict must be disclosed. Staff competitors do not score their own events.”
“Does a promising second date count?”
“No.”
“A shared streaming password?”
“Dani.”
“I’m clarifying eligibility.”
Blake moved to the final slide, which showed smiling couples doing lunges beside a smaller heading: COMMUNITY IMPACT RECOGNITION.
“The sponsors may also recognize community contribution after the challenge. That is separate from the couples title, cash prize, and standings. The competition itself will be inclusive, fun, challenging, and highly visible. Applications open today.”
My ribs cinched. On the display, LAKE CITY MARATHON sat beneath the sponsor logo. I could almost smell hot asphalt. Hear the layered noise of thousands of feet. Feel a timing chip against my shoe and panic climbing my throat so fast I could not swallow. I crossed one ankle over the other and pressed my thumb against the small scar on my right knee.
Not here. Not now. Blake asked for volunteers to assist with promotion. Several hands rose. Mine did not. When the meeting ended, staff scattered toward the morning rush. I stayed seated long enough to make standing look casual. Rose waited.
“You’re subtle,” I said.
“I haven’t spoken.”
“Your silence has a tone.”
She walked beside me toward the therapy offices.
“You could enter,” she said.
“With whom?”
“Simone.”
“She has attended three classes.”
“So the obstacle isn’t ethics.”
“The obstacle is that I’m not entering a couples competition.”
“You want the certification.”
I stopped outside her office. “I will find another way to pay for it.”
Rose unlocked the door. “How?”
“I’m developing a plan.”
“You don’t make plans.”
“I have concepts.”
“You have avoidance with branding.”
I leaned against the doorframe. “You know what your problem is?”
“I don’t flirt when I should communicate?”
