By afternoon, the plan had traction. The board responded well, a preliminary approval was possible, and I had stitched together a list of program partners that would look impressive on paper. Conley excused me to finalize logistics with a vendor; Angel and he lingered to go over budget assumptions. I left them in the study with a deliberate measured step, and when I passed the doorway I saw Conley’s hand settle lightly on Angel’s back. The motion was small. Intentional. Provocative.
Later, that night, as we moved through the ritual of dinner preparations, I watched both of them. Angel was reading through one of the policy drafts at the dining table; Conley stood over her offering pointed insights. She listened with the attentive warmth of someone rediscovering a beloved work. It was domes
