Rehearsal

It was nine a.m. sharp, and Arnold's office already smelled like fresh coffee instead of pastrami. He'd arrived early to set up the presentation space, trying not to think about how he'd spent twenty minutes choosing a shirt that morning. According to Rhonda's unsolicited fashion advice in the group chat, the blue one brought out his eyes.

"Presentation setup?" Helga's voice came from the doorway. She was wearing another blazer, this one a deep blue that made her eyes look particularly bright behind her glasses.

"Almost ready," he said, gesturing to what had become her side of the desk without thinking. His fingers tingled where they'd brush against hers during coffee handoffs, a daily dance they pretended not to notice. A steaming cup waited next to her notes from yesterday.

She settled into what they'd all silently acknowledged as her chair, lips curving slightly at the familiar arrangement. "You're getting predictable, Football Head."

"Is there another way to take it?"

"From past experience, no." But she smiled as she took a sip. "The deck updates?"

Arnold pulled up the presentation. "Phoebe's data visualization really makes the engagement metrics pop. And Rhonda's design choices—"

"Are surprisingly subtle with the color psychology?"

"I think she's capable of using restraint. Sometimes."

"Unlike our other friends?" Helga raised an eyebrow. "I saw the group chat before I muted it this morning. Something about your shirt bringing out your eyes?"

Arnold felt his face warm. "They're just... invested in the project."

"Right. The project." Helga took another sip of coffee. "Should we start with the therapeutic framework section?"

"Actually," Arnold turned his laptop so they could both see it, fighting to steady his hands as her shoulder came within inches of his. Her perfume—something subtle and professional that still made his pulse quicken—drifted between them. "I was thinking we could lead with the story of how the app idea developed. Show the evolution from concept to implementation."

"You mean tell them how you..." She paused. "How we..."

"Found ourselves working together?" he finished carefully. "By joining forces as partners?"

Their gazes locked across the glow of the screen, the air between them suddenly charged with everything they'd written in code but never said aloud.

Helga broke first, fingers fidgeting with her glasses in that telling nervous habit he remembered from high school. "The development narrative should be concise. Proficient."

"Right." Arnold pulled up their first slide. "So I'll open with my research at Berkeley, then transition to discovering your work—"

"Your extensive reading of my work," she corrected, a hint of her old smirk appearing. "All those function names suggest quite thorough research, Football He—Dr. Shortman."

"We should probably stick to formal names for the investor meeting," Arnold said, though he couldn't help smiling. "Dr. Pataki."

"Probably wise. Given your tendency to slip into old habits."

"My tendency?" He raised an eyebrow. "Who called me Football Head in front of the teen test group yesterday?"

"That was..." She straightened in her chair. "A proficient lapse."

"You've been having a lot of those lately."

"Focus on the presentation," she said, but he caught the slight color in her cheeks. "The therapeutic framework—"

"Is based on your research into emotional expression through creative writing," he continued, clicking through slides. "Which I found fascinating long before I thought about the app."

Helga's fingers tensed around her coffee cup. "Arnold..."

"Professionally fascinating," he added quickly. "Your clinical insights into how children process complex emotions—"

"Like unrequited love?" The words slipped out before she could stop them.

They both froze. Arnold's cursor hovered over a slide showing their combined research data, their names side by side on the screen. He was suddenly aware of every inch of space between them, the way her breath caught, how his own heart seemed to forget its rhythm.

The air felt electric, charged with years of everything they'd written in code but never said aloud.

"I meant," Helga said carefully, "from a therapeutic perspective. Children often struggle with... intense feelings."

"Right." Arnold's voice was equally careful. "Like writing poetry about those feelings?"

"Or designing apps to help others express them?"

Their eyes met again, and this time neither looked away. The calculated facade felt paper-thin, years of history pressing against it.

"The investors will want to know," Arnold said softly, "why we work so well together."

"It's skill compatibility," Helga managed, but her voice was quite weak."

"Is that what this is?"

Before she could answer, his phone buzzed loudly on the desk. The group chat:

Gerald: "How's the strict practice session going?" Phoebe: "The presentation requires careful coordination." Rhonda: "That blue shirt was the right choice, darling."

Helga stood abruptly. "We should take a break to maintain proper focus."

"Right." Arnold watched her gather her things, noting how her hands weren't quite steady. "Same time tomorrow?"

"I'll bring the caffeine," she said.

"Whatever you say, Dr. Pataki."

At the door, she paused. "That blue does bring out your eyes," she said quietly, then added, "From a technical standpoint, of course."

After she left, Arnold sat staring at their presentation deck, at their names together on every slide. Through his office window, he caught Gerald giving him knowing looks from the design station while Phoebe discreetly slipped a note under his door: "Correlation between proximity and elevated pulse rates: statistically significant."

Rhonda burst in with fabric swatches, not bothering to knock. "Darling, if you two are going to keep looking at each other like that, we need to adjust the app's entire color palette to account for the chemistry."

"Don't you all have work to do?" Arnold asked though he couldn't hide his smile.

His phone buzzed again:

Helga: "The therapeutic framework section needs work. Tomorrow, 9 AM. Helga: And wear whatever shirt you want. It won't affect the technical quality of our presentation."

Helga: "Much."

Arnold found himself grinning at his phone like a teenager again. Because he sensed they'd nail down the presentation, keeping everything by the book.

But right now, he let himself think about how she'd looked, saying his childhood nickname and how some habits were worth slipping back into. Some things didn't need statistical analysis to prove their truth.