The last guest finally stumbles out the door, and you hear it click shut behind them. The conference room is a mess — empty cups, crumpled napkins, a few stray bottles of prosecco. You're stacking plates when you glance up and realize Sam hasn't left either. He's leaning against the doorframe, sleeves rolled to his elbows, watching you with an expression you've never quite seen before.

"You know," he says, pushing off the frame and walking toward you, "I always figured you'd be the first one out the door at these things."

He stops close — closer than he ever does at the office — and picks up a stray bottle, his fingers brushing yours.

"Guess we're both full of surprises tonight."