Chapter 10
In her first week back in Henderson, Aubrey dove headfirst into writing. Every morning, she opened her laptop along with her
eyes, then immersed herself in creating a detailed analysis of her program and its daisy chain algorithm, complete with her
reasoning for every line of code. Her progress was slow, hampered by the need to re-create it all from memory, but hopefully
that would only strengthen her case, in the end.
Still, she would need weeks to finish. But she would expend any amount of effort. If life puts something in your way, go around it. If life knocks you down, get right back up.
In the afternoons, once she’d wrung out her brain to the consistency of a damp handkerchief, she spent her time deep-cleaning
the house and mimicking Nick’s fire-building process until she could conjure a blaze with ease. Each evening, she live-streamed
a Pilates class from her old studio in New York and followed along as best she could without a reformer, then drank tea and
did logic puzzles by the fire.
The whole time, that evening with Nick buzzed in her awareness. She tried to ignore it, but as the days wore on, the hum grew
louder, spiraling into an idea so concrete she could no longer set it aside.
She didn’t want to have dinner with Gallant.
Because those moments with Nick at the fireside—however fleeting, however inconsequential for him—had solidified something
she’d long suspected.
Uncomplicated men didn’t interest her.
She’d mostly known it after things had fallen apart with her last boyfriend. As an actuary, Luke had led a life as predictable
as the numbers he juggled. He’d read the same newspaper each morning. Smiled the same smile each time she’d walked in the
door. Vacationed on the same week each year, never once gotten angry, and done not one single thing to surprise her.
He’d definitely never gazed at her with eyes so bottomless she wanted to tip into their abyss.
Which, at the time, had been fine. Maybe even safe, now that she thought about it. Until the night Luke had cooked his regularly
scheduled Friday steak dinner and added an engagement ring to the dessert.
Aubrey had ended it then and there. Not because she didn’t want to get married. She did. She wanted the whole shebang—the
kids and the picket fence and the meaningful career. But the moment she’d spotted that ring atop her tiramisu, she’d known she hadn’t wanted it with Luke.
Now she had no desire to repeat that experience. And Gallant, despite having changed, was every bit as uncomplicated. He didn’t
have layers to uncover. He was simple. Straightforward. The kind of guy who would make a perfectly decent husband . . . for
someone else.
By the time Saturday arrived, Aubrey had decided. She’d go on the date—at this point, it’d be rude not to—but then she’d gently
snip Gallant’s ambitions off at the roots.
With that resolved, her stomach only heaved mildly as she stood before the bathroom mirror and swept mascara onto her lashes.
She donned a ruched cocktail dress she’d once found in a bargain bin in Hell’s Kitchen, then shrugged on a knee-length wool coat and settled on the chesterfield to wait.
Headlights swept through the cul-de-sac at exactly 7:00 p.m., followed by a knock at the door.
Aubrey’s heart jittered as she swung it open.
Gallant grinned from the stoop. “Hi. Wow. You look great.” Like her, he’d buttoned up against the chilly evening, but his
navy peacoat and pressed slacks conveyed the time he’d taken, regardless.
“Thanks,” she said. “You don’t look half bad, yourself.”
His smile brightened a watt. “How’s your ankle?”
She raised her eyebrows. He’d remembered. “Better, thanks. Almost like new.”
He offered an elbow and accompanied her down the walk. In the car, her seat warmer had already been turned on, and the leather
welcomed her with all the sumptuousness of a Jacuzzi.
Huh. How thoughtful.
As Gallant backed out of the driveway, Aubrey swiveled and took a long, hard look at him.
Even in the dark, his eyes seemed to glow with their own inner light. “What?” he said. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”
“I’m just . . .” She searched for tactful phrasing. “. . . surprised. Or impressed. I had no idea you were so considerate.”
He laughed. “You haven’t seen me in almost twenty years. How would you?”
Well. Fair question. Maybe he’d changed more than she’d realized.
At the restaurant, Gallant guided her in with a hand laid against the small of her back. Aubrey paused to absorb the sleek,
undersea-themed decor. Blue recessed lighting shimmered on silvered walls while clusters of globe chandeliers dangled from
the ceiling.
“Wow,” she breathed. “In Henderson? This is . . . unexpected.”
Gallant chuckled. “I’m full of surprises. Just wait. I’m saving the best for last.”
She shot him a look of alarm. “Wait, what happened to no expectations?”
“Oh.” He threw up spread hands and laughed. “No, not that. I just meant I wrote you a letter. For after.”
A letter. The words dropped straight into the stillest, most secluded pool of her heart. She did her best to follow the hostess, but
shock waves made her waver on her feet.
At the table, Gallant pulled out her chair, and Aubrey forced her confetti emotions to settle. He might have written her a
letter, but his words wouldn’t be anything like Nick’s. No one’s words would ever be like Nick’s.
She shed her coat and draped it across the back of her chair.
“Wow,” Gallant choked out. “That is . . . one hell of a dress.”
Aubrey slid into her seat and glanced around. None of the other diners had gone to the lengths she had, but this outfit had
been her only choice for an evening out. It did look somewhat painted on, and she grimaced. “Is it too much?”
He shook off his daze and sat. “Your entire existence is too much for a place like this.”
She frowned. That, at least, sounded like the Gallant she remembered.
He seemed to realize as much, because he smoothed over the comment by calling to the waiter for some sparkling water. When
the man had gone, Gallant smiled. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt Henderson to get a little taste of New York.”
She nodded and spread her napkin over her lap.
“Anyway,” he said. “How’ve you been? Are you staying busy in that big old house?”
She deflected with a smile. Despite having bared her soul to Nick, her mission to recover her job felt fiercely personal, not like fodder for casual conversation.
“Yeah, I’ve been working on a . . . ah, project.
But to be honest, I should probably get out of the house more.
I’m getting pretty tired of staring at my screen all day. ”
The waiter delivered a carafe. Gallant poured and pushed a glass across the table. “Sounds like you need a hobby. How’d you
spend your time in New York?”
A rueful sigh escaped. For the past year, she’d devoted herself to her side project. Its mathematics had filled her lungs.
Powered every beat of her blood. God, how she missed that, the depth of it. The way she could lose herself transcribing numerical
elegance into code. “Working, mostly. And Pilates. Then more work.”
He nodded along. “You know, I admire that. Seems like hardly anyone’s actually trying to get ahead, these days.”
Her tongue twined around a denial. “It wasn’t because I was angling for a promotion, or anything. It was more like I needed
something to be consumed by. If that makes sense.” That, and she’d wanted to win the Innovation Cup. The badge of honor would’ve
lent credence to her life’s work.
“Sure,” Gallant said. “You like to stay busy.”
She pressed her lips together. “Yeah. Something like that.”
He scanned the menu. “I respect that. And hey, Henderson might not have much going for it, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing
to do here. Maybe you could volunteer.”
“Volunteer?” A spark fired in her belly. Now, there was an idea. “For what?”
“Harvest Days, maybe? The parade’s not ’til November, but it seems like half the town comes out to help build the floats.”
That inner spark flared to a full-blown glow. Getting out of the house and away from that memory-laden fireplace would help clear her head. “That sounds great, actually. Who would I talk to about that?”
“Megan Shimamoto, probably. She chairs the volunteer committee.”
“Megan Shimamoto?” Aubrey searched her memory and came up empty.
“Sorry,” he said. “Tomlinson was her maiden name. Weren’t you two besties, back in the day?”
Aubrey straightened. Megan Tomlinson had been her bestie, and the closest thing she’d had to a sister—not only a fellow cheerleader, but captain of the squad. It
came as no surprise that pert, outgoing Megan now chaired a volunteer committee.
“Wow,” Aubrey breathed. “I’d love to see her again. Do you have her number, by chance?”
“No.” Gallant’s tone took on an edge. Before she could divine its source, he moved on. “You could probably find her online,
though. Anyway, do you know what you want?”
Aubrey shifted her attention to the menu. Once they’d ordered, the conversation turned to the past seventeen years.
Gallant spent the bulk of the evening talking up his accomplishments. He’d gone to college in Indianapolis, then returned
to Henderson for his real estate license. Now he owned various properties around town, most of which he leased to businesses.
He’d also renovated a run-down apartment complex into upscale condos for the mill foremen and their families.
As he talked, Aubrey’s earlier interest faded. She savored her sea scallops, but her responses turned mechanical.
As she’d suspected, Gallant was uncomplicated. He aspired to wealth and not much more, and while she didn’t begrudge him that,
his life could be described with simple arithmetic.
Meanwhile, someone like Nick required advanced regression analysis and still left her feeling like she’d overlooked a hundred data points or two. She could probably spend a lifetime trying to solve the equations that made that man tick and never puzzle through them all.