Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Connor stood on his porch longer than necessary, keys warm in his hand, listening to the quiet hum of the street—a car passing somewhere down the block, a screen door slapping shut, Good Hope settling into the evening.
Mac’s unit looked the same as it always did. Lights on in the living room. Curtains half drawn. Calm.
That, more than anything, was why he’d come.
He crossed the few steps between their units and knocked once—steady, without hesitation.
The door opened a moment later.
Mac stood there in socks, a book tucked under one arm.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” He shifted his weight. “I was thinking of going for a walk. Thought I’d see if you wanted to join me.”
She studied him for a beat, taking him in.
“Sure,” she said finally. “Give me a second.”
He stepped back as she disappeared inside. When she returned, she’d slipped on a hoodie and looped her keys around her finger.
They fell into step easily, heading toward the lake without discussing it. Muscle memory, he realized. Something already learned.
For a while, neither of them spoke, but it didn’t feel like silence between them.
Connor matched her pace without thinking. That was new. He was usually adjusting—slowing, speeding up, filling space. Tonight, it happened without effort.
“You were at the gym earlier,” he said eventually, the words carefully chosen.
“Yeah.”
“How’d it go?”
“Productive,” she said, her tone measured.
That word lingered.
He nodded, hands in his pockets. “Clay mentioned you’d been in earlier.”
She glanced over. “Did he?”
“Mm-hm. A little of everything.” He shrugged. “You know how he is.”
She smiled faintly. “I do.”
They walked another block. The lake came into view, dark and steady, the surface catching the last scraps of light.
Connor tried to name what felt different, because something did.
Mac wasn’t distant. She wasn’t closed off. If anything, she was more present, if harder to read. But there was a precision to her now. A carefulness that felt deliberate.
“So,” he said, casual, “everything feeling a little clearer?”
She didn’t answer right away.
When she did, her voice was calm. “Some things are.”
He waited, expecting more. It didn’t come.
He nodded anyway. “That’s good.”
They reached the path along the water. The gravel crunched underfoot. A breeze moved through the trees, lifting the edge of her hoodie.
Connor slowed slightly, letting the moment settle.
“I told Clay you were probably just figuring things out,” he said, keeping his tone light. “About the contract, I mean.”
The words landed between them. Not heavy or sharp.
Mac slowed to a stop.
Connor stopped, too.
She turned to face him, calm but unmistakably firm.
“I am figuring things out,” she said. “But it’s not the same thing as being unsure.”
He blinked. “Okay.”
“I’m choosing,” she added. “There’s a difference.”
She held his gaze, not challenging, just clear.
Something shifted in his chest. He didn’t feel defensive or guilty. He realized the distinction she was making.
“Right,” he said slowly. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
She nodded, satisfied, and turned back toward the path as if the moment didn’t require further discussion.
Connor followed, quieter now.
He replayed the exchange without meaning to. The word he’d used… Probably. The assumption threaded into it. How easily he’d reached for an explanation instead of asking.
He hadn’t meant to speak for her. But intention, he was learning, didn’t erase impact.
Mac walked beside him, her shoulder brushing his arm, still close, still warm. She hadn’t pulled away. If anything, she seemed steadier than before.
That, oddly, made the silence seem louder.
They reached the curve in the path where the lake opened up, wide and dark and patient.
Connor slowed, then reached for her hand, not to steady her, but as a question.
Careful. Open. Leaving room for her to decide.
She took his hand, her grip firm and unmistakably hers.
They stood there for a moment, the water lapping softly against the shore.
“I like walking with you,” he said quietly.
She smiled—not small, not guarded. Real. “Me, too.”
Nothing was resolved. And yet, things felt steadier.
But as they turned back toward home, Connor knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Whatever this was becoming would require him to listen more carefully than he ever had before—and to trust that she knew where she was going.
The Brody kitchen was louder than usual, though not in a bad way. Just full.
A pan hissed on the stove, someone had their phone propped against the window and playing music, and conversation crossed itself in loose, overlapping strands. Prom talk sat at the center of it, half logistics, half enthusiasm.
Connor leaned against the counter, nursing a glass of iced tea, listening with half an ear.
“We still need someone to handle the setup for the refreshment table,” Brynn was saying, scanning a scribbled list. “Nothing major. Just making sure the punch stays full and the desserts get rotated.”
Bella nodded. “That’s easy. We could—” She looked up at Connor, eyes lighting. “Oh. We’ll just put you and Mac down for that.”
Connor felt the assumption settle into place.
It made sense. They’d been showing up together lately.
He felt the moment stretch, just long enough that someone would fill it if he didn’t.
“Yeah,” Callum added easily. “That works. It’s kind of perfect, actually.”
Connor straightened.
“Hey, you should check with Mac first. I’m not sure what she’s got going on that night.”
The activity in the room didn’t stop exactly, but it shifted. The way it did when someone said something slightly off script.
Bella blinked. “Oh, sorry. Habit. I should’ve asked her.”
Callum frowned. “I figured you two would come together.”
“We might,” Connor said. “But I can’t answer for her.”
A small pause followed.
Brynn glanced between them. “Everything good with you and Mac?”
Connor huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. It’s just not cool to volunteer her without asking first.”
Brynn set down the clipboard. “Okay. So we’ll just ask her.”
Bella tilted her head, studying him for a second longer than necessary, then she nodded once. “Got it.” She scribbled something on the list. “We’ll leave that open for now.”
Conversation picked back up. Someone made a joke about volunteering for punch duty being the real test of commitment.
Connor took a sip of his tea, letting the moment pass. He didn’t need credit for it.
It hadn’t been a big thing.
Still, it mattered.
Mac and Bella were at the Daily Grind waiting for coffee refills the next afternoon when Bella brought up volunteering at the prom.
“We almost put you and Connor down to run the refreshment table at the prom,” she said, wincing slightly. “I wasn’t thinking when I asked him about it instead of you.”
Mac looked up.
“Connor said he didn’t want to answer for you.” Bella smiled a little. “Said we shouldn’t assume, that you should be the one to decide.”
Something in Mac’s chest eased, a small shift, but real.
“Oh,” she said.
Bella watched her for a beat, then added, “He didn’t make it weird. Just…clear.”
Mac nodded slowly, her fingers curling around the warmth of her mug.
Clear.
She hadn’t asked him to do that. Hadn’t hinted. Hadn’t explained.
He’d just listened—and acted.
“Good,” Mac said finally.
Bella watched her over the rim of her mug.
“You realize that reaction is kind of telling, right?”
Mac frowned. “What reaction?”
“You look a little surprised he didn’t just answer for you.”
Mac stilled for a second, considering that.
Later, walking home alone, Mac let the moment replay—not with analysis, not with caution.
With recognition.
He hadn’t rushed her.
Hadn’t stepped in.
Hadn’t decided on her behalf.
He’d made space and trusted her to step into it when she was ready.
For the first time in a while, she didn’t feel the need to brace. Not about prom, but about being heard.
When she saw Connor on his porch later that evening, she didn’t let the moment slide.
“Hey,” she said, crossing to him. “I heard about the prom thing.”
He glanced at her. “Oh.”
“You didn’t have to step in like that.”
“I wasn’t trying to make it a point,” he said. “I just didn’t want to answer for you.”
She hesitated, then gave a half laugh. “I know it’s just punch duty.”
He shook his head. “It’s not about punch duty.”
She looked at him.
“It’s about your time,” he said simply. “You get to call it.”
She nodded once. “Thank you.”
He didn’t make a big deal of it, just bumped her shoulder lightly with his.
Mac nodded toward the quiet street, then back at him. “You want to take a walk?”
“With you?” He grinned. “Always.”
The word didn’t land like pressure. It clarified the shape of things.
She didn’t have to manufacture warmth with him anymore. It was just there.
“I’m ready if you are.”
Connor held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then looked away, not retreating, but giving the silence room to breathe.
“I’d like to go with you to the prom.” He met her eyes again, steady now. “As your date, if you want to.”
He didn’t cushion it with humor or turn it into a joke. He simply offered it.
Mac felt the moment register in her body before it reached her thoughts. The gym. The committees. The way her life had so often turned into roles other people queued her into.
This wasn’t that.
She took a breath.
“I do,” she said. “I want to.”
Relief moved across his face, contained, honest.
“Good,” he said quietly. “I never want to answer for you.”
He held out his hand, not urgent, not expectant.
Mac stepped forward and slid her fingers into his.
They started walking, the street opening ahead of them, the evening unclaimed.
This time, she was choosing.