34. Cora
34
CORA
One Year Later
“ I think the decorations were far better for the reunion,” Aiden whispered in my ear as he threaded his fingers through mine. A microphone screeched, and I winced along with the assembled crowd of school board members, teachers, and community partners.
We stood at the edge of the stage in our high school’s gymnasium, waiting to be called up by the chairman of the school board. “ I think this speech is running a little long. How many nice things can they possibly have to say about you?” I joked.
The Callihan Education Foundation had made a large donation to the public school system in our hometown, and we were here to officially hand over the big check and pose for all the obligatory photos.
“They’re just trying to butter us up,” he said. “A little birdie told me they’re hoping to overhaul the arts program next.”
“Well, the arts are important,” I said.
“True. We can’t all be football stars.”
I snorted. Our donation was going toward athletics, making sure there were an abundance of sports programs available to students with an added focus on supporting mental health and well-being. Aiden had insisted on it himself, pulling from his own experiences both in high school and in therapy. His hope was to encourage students to use athletics, particularly team sports, to help them find productive outlets for their stress and anxiety.
“Back to my observations about the decorations,” he teased. “There’s not a balloon in sight.”
“You would have just called it tacky anyway,” I whispered.
“Well, I think I’m handing over enough money that they could have sprung for a banner, at least.”
A round of applause sounded, and we quieted, smiling politely and clapping along.
“Today we want to extend a warm thank you to Aiden and Cora Callihan for their wonderfully generous contribution,” the chairman said. “We are beyond grateful for your continued support.” He held his arm out in welcome.
I squeezed Aiden’s hand briefly. “Let’s go do our thing.”
Aiden straightened his tie, giving me a wink as we marched across the stage with the giant prop check. Tomorrow we’d be on the front page of the local newspaper, Aiden’s beaming smile taking center stage, and I had no doubt that this article would join the others currently framed in his office. It’d probably sit next to his GQ cover.
When the moment was over, and we’d shaken hands with everyone on stage, the group broke for refreshments and a small reception. We chatted with all the appropriate people and reminisced about high school with some of our old teachers, including Mr. Cranson, who I’d started calling Henry in private since he and my mom were still going strong. Eventually, Aiden took my hand, placing it in the crook of his arm.
“Excuse us,” he said politely, steering me toward the refreshment table, then past it.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He grinned at me. “Let’s get outta here.”
I laughed. “We can’t just leave. You’re the man of the hour. People want to talk to you.”
“We’re not actually leaving,” he whispered, shooting stealthy glances over his shoulders as he directed me to an emergency exit door.
“Then what are we doing?”
“Taking on a side quest,” he said as we slipped through the door into the parking lot. I giggled as he led us across the lot and onto the path to the football field. “We don’t get back here enough.”
“My mother would agree.”
“I figured we should take advantage of it while we can.”
“Take advantage of what?”
“An open dance floor,” he said.
He walked me out to the middle of the field like he had the night of the reunion, twirling me around before pulling me back into his arms.
“We’re missing the music,” I said.
“One second.” He fiddled with his phone. I leaned against his shoulder as the familiar Lifehouse chords echoed between us. My heart swelled, a soft, contented sigh passing between my lips as Aiden’s arms tightened around me.
“ Cause it’s you and me… ” he sang quietly in my ear.
And it always had been—and always would be.