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Ezra raises his hand. “I know someone in the business department who runs a free résumé clinic. I can reach out and see if they’ll partner with us.”

“Great.” I nod, jotting it down. “What else?”

Bea speaks up next, her voice timid. “I could start a donation drive in the dorms—set up boxes on each floor for clothes and supplies.”

“Perfect. Let’s coordinate with Housing.”

The ideas start flowing faster, and I jot them down as quickly as I can. Every so often, I glance at Storm, half-expecting him to chime in, but he stays quiet, his expression thoughtful.

When the meeting wraps up an hour later, I set the marker down and turn to the group.

“Thank you all for your input tonight. This is how we make real change—together. I’ll send out an email with updates and action items, so keep an eye on your inboxes.”

Taking the signal the meeting is adjourned, everyone stands. Yenn, Alicia, and Ezra head to the snack table, where Bea leaves with the half-empty bag of Doritos.

As the meeting members file out, I try not to let disappointment settle over me. With Kurt leaving, that still leaves me one short of the number of registrants needed to submit to the board.

Sighing, I head to the clipboard on the small table near the exit. Everyone has signed up for the club…except for Kurt and Storm.

“Ah, is it too late to put my name down officially?” I look over my right shoulder and meet Storm’s hazel eyes. While his lips still hold that ever-present quirk that saysI’m hot shit and I know it,his expression is otherwise subdued.

When I don’t hand over the clipboard, he lifts one of his eyebrows, more teasing casting across his features.

“Oh, yes. Here,” I mumble, pushing the clipboard and blue Bic pen toward him. When he lowers his head to fill in his name and contact information, I take the opportunity to look at him.

Okay, ogle him.

He’s so good-looking it’s unfair. He looks like he’s gotten a haircut recently, his soft curls groomed into a neat fade. I track his movements as he scribbles on the paper, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who had attractive hands.

Like, isn’t that a thing only said in movies?

“Do I need a manicure or something?”

My eyes snap up, heat rushing to my cheeks as he catches me staring.

There’s laughter in his gaze.

“No, your hands are fine. I guess.”

He chuckles at that—a slight bark of laughter. “Only fine? I’m wounded.”

Moving smoothly, he places the forms back on the table, and when he does so, he comes close to me.

So close, in fact, I get a solid whiff of his woodsy cologne.

“You’re a natural,” he says, snapping me out of my mental analysis of his scent. “In the meeting. You ran it very well, Shae.”

The heat gets even hotter.

“Well, Kurt, notwithstanding,” I reply.

He blows out a breath, his jaw tensing a bit in a way I’m instantly mesmerized by.

“Thanks, by the way. I really appreciate you standing up for me and what we’re trying to do here.”

He smiles. “Well…Kurt’s an ass.”

I can’t help it. I smile back at him, despite the heat in my cheeks. “So you keep telling me.”