28. A Meeting of Minds
Chapter twenty-eight
A Meeting of Minds
Brody
The look on Chloe’s face when she spots me knocks the air out of my lungs. This was supposed to be a good surprise. I figured she’d be happy. I was half a second from skipping through the damn doors. But based on how fast she leaves the stage, I misread the hell out of the situation.
“Everyone’s ready back here,” Shelly whispers, her glossy clipboard tucked like a weapon against her chest. Our PR guru nods toward the swarm of reporters waiting behind her, vultures in lanyards. “Say the word and we’ll get this show on the road.”
Chase chuckles beside me, half-covering his mouth. “Looks like the show’s one cast member short.”
I follow his line of sight in time to see Chloe vanish behind the curtain, her dad close behind.
She’s crying.
Shit. She’s crying.
A weight settles in my chest. I want to run after her. I want to fix this and promise I’ll never fuckup like this again. But Shelly gives me a gentle shove toward the aisle, and next thing I know I’m walking straight into the spotlight.
Chatter builds like a wave. By the time I hit the podium, it’s full-blown. Cameras flash. Mics crowd my chin. Everyone in the room is watching .
I scan the stage wings. No Chloe.
“There better be a damn good reason for this,” someone shouts.
Oh, look. It’s Café Guy. The heckler from Lakeside. Same too tight flannel and holding the same fucking grudge.
He goes on, without letting me respond. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re done with Stirling Tech pushing its way in.”
Mumbles rise from the crowd of angry Bluepeakers. I tug at my collar as sweat trickles down my neck.
I’ve dealt with worse. Plenty of pissed-off locals, opposition, and rooms full of assholes. Usually, I’d toss some cash their way. Problem solved. But this time, I’m not here to buy goodwill. I’m here for her.
“Thank you for the opportunity to speak to you all today,” I begin, my voice steady. “Yes, I’ve heard your concerns. Loud and clear. In the past, I’ve hit snags and solved them the way most corporate guys do, with a big fat check.”
Booing. Café Guy throws his arms up like he’s about to climb onstage. Hell of a start.
I lift my hand, trying to keep my shit together. “But Bluepeak’s been… different.”
No sign of Chloe in the crowd. I scan again, hoping. Nothing.
“This town, and its people, changed how I think about what I do. How I’ll run my business moving forward. About what actually matters.”
“Did you change enough to get the hell out of here?” Café Guy again.
I level him with a look, wondering how much jail time a face like his is worth .
“No,” I say, cutting off the chorus of snorts, “but I did change course. Stirling Tech will no longer expand into Bluepeak’s preserved natural areas. That land stays untouched. And thirty-five percent of our project profits go straight to the town. You decide how those funds are used.”
Excited chatter breaking out nearly overcomes me on stage. My eyes are glued to the wings of the stage, where Norman appears, arms crossed. He looks... almost impressed. But where the hell is Chloe?
I crane my neck, trying to pick her out of the shadows behind Norman, but between the camera flashes and the avalanche of questions being hurled at me, it’s damn near impossible.
The words fade into the background.
My eyes stay glued on the side aisle, where Chloe took off, head down, her face streaked with tears.
That’s all I can think about. The way she turned away. The tears.
She must’ve heard my speech. So why does it feel like I made things worse?
“Any follow-up questions can go through Shelly,” I say, shifting into autopilot. “If she doesn’t have the answer, send it to my office. I’ll respond personally.”
Not a fucking chance in hell. But it gets me off the stage.
I don’t wait for them to accept my answer before slipping off the stage. I’m done here.
“That was one hell of a pivot,” Norman says as I pass him.
“Well, I wish I was a little quicker on the uptake,” I chuckle. “Would’ve spared everyone a lot of heartache.”
His eyes sharpen. He knows damn well we aren’t talking about the project anymore.
I’m used to people being on guard around me, their skepticism and defensiveness. Hell, I usually thrive on it. With her dad it doesn’t feel the same. Vulnerability is a bitch. This must be what it feels like to actually give a shit.
“You’ve done right by the town,” Norman says, his voice calm, steady, and terrifying as fuck. “Now go do right by my daughter.”
My throat goes dry, but I hold his gaze. Shrinking away isn’t an option, not when I know he’s right.
“I’m on my way to do that, sir.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just watches me as I break into a sprint toward the exit.
Outside, the air hits hot against my skin. She couldn’t have gone far.
If I were Chloe, furious and blindsided and completely done with my crap, where would I go?
The café? Too public.
The lodge? Too close.
Then I see her.
Halfway down the block. Head low. Shoulders hunched like she’s carrying the weight of the world. Or maybe, the weight of my dumbass mistakes.
She hesitates, glancing back at me over her shoulder. Her face is tight, guarded, but she doesn’t run.
Good. She’s not completely done with me. Yet.
I slow as I reach her. “Thank you,” I pant, trying for a start that doesn’t suck. “I—”
“You what?” she snaps, cutting me off, sounding so damn irritated it makes my chest ache. “You thought you could waltz into town after weeks of silence, say a few magic words, and what? Everything would be fine?”
“I didn’t disappear. I was away for work,” already regretting how weak that sounds. A long, drawn-out sigh slips out, dragging half my soul with it. She’s shutting me out, worse than I’ve ever seen. “Please…”
She flinches when I reach out, dodging my hand like it’s toxic, her back pressed against the window of the flower shop. She makes it clear, don’t touch me.
“You told me,” she says, quieter now, but her tone is sharp. “But you didn’t mention that I wouldn’t hear from you the entire time. Or am I stupid, thinking you’d at least call? Text? But nothing, not once?”
I open my mouth, but there’s no line that’ll fix this. She’s right. I fucked up. As I always do with her.
“My entire life,” I start, hoping I don’t screw this up more, “it’s been my work. I’ve never had to check in with anyone. I didn’t realize—”
“You’re a grown man, Brody. You don’t have to ‘check in,’ but a text? A call? To say, I don’t know, that you miss me?”
She pauses. Her voice falters, eyes glistening with unshed tears she refuses to let fall.
“Did you? Miss me, I mean?”
And it’s like everything she’s feeling is wrapped up in those few words.
Bundled up tightly and flung straight in my face, leaving me gasping for air.
For mercy. That question. How the hell do I explain that I didn’t just miss her?
It was so much worse than that? Every minute I was away felt like a slow, painful craving for her touch, her laugh, her scent, all of her.
“ Of course I missed you ,” I say. Honest. Helpless.
She dips her head, eyes glued to the cracks in the sidewalk. She looks so… sad, it takes everything in me to not consume her with my embrace. I want to fix us, but how?
“More than I could stand,” I step closer, my fingers brushing under her chin to tilt her face toward mine. This time, she lets me.
Her gaze meets mine. Guarded. Glassy. Raw.
“Did you mean what you said back there, about the project?” she asks.
There’s no wall between us now, no cold shutdown. A tiny sliver of hope. Fragile as hell, but it’s there, and I’m not about to let it slip through my fingers.
“I meant every word. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure things out. I’m sorry for how much I hurt you. For the silence, the damage.”
She shakes her head about to protest, but I grip her shoulders, holding her here. I need her to hear this.
“No, I mean it. I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I wish I’d seen it sooner. I wish…”
I choke on the words. Fuck, why is this so hard? I can’t get the rest out.
“What do you wish?” Her eyes don’t move from mine.
Her mouth parts like she’s about to say something else, but nothing comes. I see her clearly now. Not the anger. Not the walls. She’s the one I love.
I pull her in and kiss her .
Her body eases into mine, not with a crash but a release. As though we’re falling into something we should’ve done sooner. Her arms loop around my neck. My hands press into her back. Her lips part, and it’s all there. Everything I missed, everything I was too stubborn to say out loud.
She tastes like second chances and the best damn decision I’ve ever made.
When we finally break apart, I rest my forehead against hers, breath still catching. Her lips brush mine in the smallest, quietest smile.
I take her hand, press a kiss to her wrist. “I don’t want you to wait anymore.”
Then I kiss her again, slower this time, and say against her mouth, “Let’s get out of here.”