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“But at the end of the day,” Roman argued, “the culture is really just based on communication and respect, and those aren’t hard concepts to grasp.”

Nolan nodded. “True. But think of the diversity in the Trailblazers organization. Does everyone’s career and personal background emphasize communication and respect? Probably not. You have admin staff who come from a sales background, where it’s every person for themselves. You have players who come from other teams where the coach led by belittling every little thing that a player did wrong. You have front-office staff who grew up in difficult households. In those and similar cases, people aren’t going to land inside the Trailblazers organization and immediately trust this new system. Trust needs to be earned.” He looked each man in the eye. “They won’t trust the culture here until they see it in action, and that takes time.”

“Fine,” Roman grumbled reluctantly. “You might have a point.”

“How, then, do we make new people feel welcome in a way that doesn’t alienate them with our sometimes-intimidating team culture?” Zanetti asked.

“Intimidating is a good word,” Nolan said. “You’ll want to slow down the onboarding process. Normalize uncertainty and adjustment time, and stress that it can feel like a lot at first. Also stress that there are different ways of acclimating and accepting the culture. Not everyone will integrate the same way, so emphasize that there are multiple ways of being part of this organization.”

The meeting continued for another forty-five minutes with Roman and Zanetti asking smart questions and taking notes. They were both clearly incredibly serious about improving their programs, and it was refreshing to see after Nolan’s last job, where he’d been sidelined for asking too many questions.

When they finally concluded the meeting, Zanetti sat back and ran both hands down his face.

Nolan grimaced. “Too much?”

“Not at all,” Zanetti said. “Just a lot to take in. These solutions that you’ve proposed—can you help us implement them and make the necessary changes to existing programs?”

“Me?” Blinking, Nolan placed a hand on his chest. “Well, sure, but . . .”

“But you don’t want to?”

He had to laugh. “No, I want to. But I didn’t expect you’d want me to stick around and help out after I finished my audit, so it’s not part of our contract.”

Zanetti shrugged. “So draw up a new one.” He turned to Roman. “Right?”

Roman just stared at him.

“You gave me the mentorship program and told me to develop a wellness initiative alongside it because you wanted to focus on new projects,” Zanetti reminded him. “And you said I could have whatever I want. And I want him.”

Roman sighed, but although he acted put-upon, his lips quirked. “I did say that, didn’t I? How long until the wellness initiative is up and running?”

Zanetti made a face. “Considering we hit pause on its development because we wanted the results of Nolan’s audit first? I don’t know. A year, maybe?”

“Sold,” Nolan said. “I’d love to help.”

Zanetti grinned like he’d won the lottery.

But it was Nolan who’d won the lottery. He’d started researching entrepreneurship, but it was . . . a lot. And kind of scary. And overwhelming. Having steady income for another year while he put the pieces in place for his own consultancy was more than he could’ve hoped for.

“I’m not sure how much longer we can keep you in Trailblazers’ housing, though,” Roman said.

“Actually, I recently visited a bungalow for rent in South End,” Nolan said. “Great price. Furnished. Two bedrooms. Lots of natural light.”

“You were already planning on moving here?” Zanetti asked.

Nolan shrugged. “Course.”

He’d flown to San Francisco last month to deal with the lease on his apartment. He’d begun packing his stuff and had hired a company to move his larger items east, including his car. Anything that could fit in a suitcase he’d brought back with him.

He was banking on having moved into the bungalow by the time the moving company arrived in Burlington, but if the owner didn’t accept his application, Dad had already offered the use of his basement as temporary storage for Nolan’s stuff.

Nolan had toyed with the idea of him and Eli living together, and although he hadn’t been convinced, he’d brought it up with Eli last week to get his opinion.

“Um . . .” Eli had bit his lip as he’d stirred the pasta sauce on the stove. Once that was done, he’d set the spoon aside and met Nolan’s gaze. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think we’re there yet. I mean, I love the fuck out of you, and one day I want to make a home with you. But not yet.”

The knot of anxiety in Nolan’s chest had loosened, and he’d pressed a quick kiss to Eli’s mouth. “Agreed.”

“Yeah? Cool. So what kind of pasta do you want with this? Spaghetti or the twisty noodles?”