Gemotions

Brenda strode into the meeting room, her heels clicking a sharp rhythm against the polished floor. She was precisely five minutes early, a testament to her meticulous planning, and settled into the plush chair, already mentally rehearsing her presentation. A slight smile played on her lips; she knew this pitch was hers to win.

Across the table, Liam, usually a blur of nervous energy, seemed unusually subdued, fiddling with a pen. “Brenda, hey,” he muttered, glancing up. "Did you ever go to Camp Clearwater?"

Brenda’s eyebrows arched, intrigued. “As a matter of fact, I did. Years ago. Are you serious?” The thought brought a surge of warmth to her chest. It was a shared experience, a common ground she hadn't anticipated.

“Yeah,” Liam said, a grin finally spreading across his face. “I was there the same summers. Remember the talent show? I almost won the harmonica competition.” Brenda laughed, the sound genuine and free. She felt a lightness in her step as she began her pitch, each point delivered with the assuredness of someone certain of their grasp of the subject.