Chapter 25
I shuffled out of class, balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of notebooks in the other. I spotted Dr. Andersen—Mr. Five Hours Early himself—waiting near the door with his usual, slightly over-eager grin.
Ever since he’d written my recommendation letter, he’d become something of a guardian angel, though one who believed the key to life was “always arriving ten minutes early.”
Somehow, he’d taken it upon himself to guide me through my entire Tulane journey, urging me toward the best study spots, quietly checking in after classes, and constantly reminding me of campus resources.
I’d spent years wearing my independence like a badge, proud of handling things on my own. But when I finally let myself ask for help, Dr. Andersen was there without hesitation. And then, as if I’d somehow activated a support network I didn’t know I had, others started stepping in too.
There was Larry from the DMV. I hadn’t seen him in years.
Not since that time I helped him figure out how to finally renew his fishing license without accidentally canceling his driver’s license (don’t ask).
Somehow, he heard through the grapevine that I needed a place to stay, and the next thing I knew, he was renting me an old studio for practically nothing.
It came with a suspiciously creaky floorboard, but hey, it was home, and it was near Tulane.
And then there was Mrs. Patel from the grocery store.
I casually mentioned that I was looking for a car, and within a day, she’d called up a distant cousin and worked her magic, scoring me a deal on a slightly rattly but reliable Camry.
All I had to do was agree to drop by for tea occasionally and listen to her latest theories about grocery store price conspiracies.
As I headed down the familiar path to my apartment, sorting through the stack of mail I’d just picked up, a glossy, oversized envelope slipped out.
It was heavier than the rest, and I stopped mid-step, holding it up in the fading light.
Embossed in silver were the words Bright Futures Foundation Gala. My heart stuttered.
I frowned, flipping it over to see if it was some kind of mistake. Bright Futures. The charity I’d been so passionate about—the one I’d tried to convince Topher to support. But who would be inviting me to their big, high-end gala?
I looked around, half-expecting someone to jump out and yell surprise! as if this were all some elaborate prank. But it was just me, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, clutching this invitation as if it might disappear. I couldn’t help but wonder: why me?
Peeling open the envelope, I pulled out a thick card.
It had all the details laid out in elegant script.
There would be a cocktail hour, a three-course dinner, and a lineup of some of the city’s top philanthropists.
There was even a note saying it was black tie, which might as well have been code for you don’t belong here.
I shook my head, bewildered. Who would’ve thought to send me this?
As I turned the invitation over in my hands, something on the back caught my eye. Scrawled in barely legible ink were a few words: I hope to see you here. Topher
I felt my breath hitch, recognizing the familiar, messy handwriting. Topher. He’d sent this. He wanted me there. I swallowed, emotions swirling through me as I traced the words with my thumb.
My curiosity flaring, I pulled out my phone and looked up Bright Futures Foundation.
The first article that popped up took me by surprise.
It was recent, reporting that the foundation had just received a massive, anonymous donation.
A donation so large that it had completely transformed what was possible for the charity.
The article mentioned plans for new youth programs, expanded scholarship funds, and resources for families in crisis, all of which were made possible thanks to this mysterious donor.
It was clear that the foundation was on the verge of becoming something extraordinary.
As I scrolled down the article, a line caught my eye, something that stopped me cold.
“The anonymous donor shared a personal motivation for the gift, quoting a conversation that shaped his perspective: ‘Someone important to me once told me that when the bills pile up, it can feel like your dreams are slipping away. That’s why I did this.’”
My heart squeezed, feeling that familiar sting of bittersweet memories. Topher had listened. I could still remember that day, telling him all the things I’d kept bottled up, not knowing how close he’d been listening.
A small, nervous smile spread across my face. He’d poured his resources into something I cared about deeply, maybe more than he could’ve guessed. He hadn’t just listened. He’d acted.
My pulse quickened as I looked down at the invitation again, his handwritten note lifting my spirits to a place I’d forgotten. I hope to see you here. It was just a few simple words, yet they had the power to pull me in a thousand directions at once.
Part of me wanted to tuck the invitation away, bury it at the bottom of a drawer, pretend I’d never seen it.
The thought of seeing Topher again—of risking all those feelings I’d worked so hard to push down—was terrifying.
What if he’d moved on completely? What if I showed up, and it meant nothing to him?
But then my eyes went back to the article about the donation to Bright Futures.
He’d listened, taken my words, and turned them into something tangible.
All those conversations we’d had, the fears I’d let slip, he’d heard every one of them.
And he’d acted on them in a way that left me feeling both touched and seen.
I held the invitation a little tighter, my heart battling with my head.
The easy thing would be to stay home. There was safety in keeping my distance.
But I’d spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, afraid to be vulnerable, always trying to protect myself from hurt. If I didn’t take this chance, if I didn’t let myself believe, I’d be doing exactly what I’d done for so long: closing myself off, choosing the easy way out.
This time was different. I’d grown. I’d learned how to ask for help, how to accept it. I’d taken steps toward a new life, made it on my own when I’d thought I couldn’t. And maybe this was the final step. I needed to show up, even if it meant risking the pain all over again.
I took a deep breath. As the tremor of fear started to fade, something else took its place: determination.
I wasn’t the same person I’d been when I met Topher.
This wasn’t about me proving something to him.
This was about me proving something to myself: that I was brave enough to show up, that I could open myself to possibility, to love, without fear of what might happen.
I would go. I’d face the unknown, show up in that ballroom, and let him see the person I’d become. This was my grand gesture. I chose to believe, to hope, and to be vulnerable. I didn’t know what would happen, but I knew I had to try.
* * *
That’s how I ended up in a borrowed ball gown two weeks later, my hair twisted into an elegant updo and a nervous flutter in my stomach that hadn’t settled since I’d walked through the doors.
The Audubon Tea Room was buzzing, chandeliers casting a warm glow over the elegant guests who glided through the room with champagne glasses in hand, their laughter floating above the music.
I took a steadying breath, scanning the crowd, half-expecting Topher to appear any second, his eyes meeting mine across the room, just like I’d pictured a dozen times since I got the invitation.
And then, there he was.
Across the room, looking as polished as ever in a tuxedo. I froze, breath catching, waiting for him to notice me, to give me that look that always seemed like it was meant just for me.
Then, he raised his eyes and caught mine. The air between us seemed to shift, to charge. A spark passed between us. I could feel it. I knew he felt it too.
My heart thudded as he started toward me, his gaze never leaving mine. He moved through the crowd like it wasn't even there, like I was the only person in the room.
When he reached me, he stopped. Just stopped and stared.
"Kathleen," he breathed, his voice barely audible over the music. His eyes traveled over me slowly, taking me in. "You look..." He shook his head, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. "You're absolutely stunning."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "Thank you," I managed, my voice coming out softer than I intended. I tried not to sound like I was winded from standing still.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne, feel the warmth radiating from him.
"I mean it," he said, his voice dropping lower, more intimate.
"I knew you'd be beautiful, but this..." His eyes held mine, something intense and unguarded flickering in their depths. "You took my breath away."
Before I could respond, he leaned in. His lips brushed my cheek, lingering longer than necessary.
The world tilted.
That simple touch sent a rush of sensation through me, like every nerve ending had suddenly come alive. My breath hitched. I felt the shiver run through him too, the way his hand tightened slightly on my arm, the way he went very still.
When he pulled back, his eyes had darkened, that careful control he always maintained suddenly precarious.
"Kathleen," he said again, my name rough on his tongue.
Then his phone buzzed in his pocket. His thumb hovered like he might respond to whatever was buzzing, then dropped without typing. “Sorry.”
I gave him a soft smile. “You couldn’t take one night off?”
“Oh, it’s not work,” he murmured, shooting another glance at the phone. “But it is important.”
My heart sank. What could be so important?
Then the emcee’s voice rang out: “Let’s hear it for Mr. Topher Brodie!”
Topher rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”
“What’s happening?” I asked.
He stepped back, reluctantly. “I may have agreed to auction off a date.”
“A date?”
“For charity,” he added, as if that made this less bizarre.
I stared at him. “You’re being auctioned off?”
“I panicked. My mom signed me up before surgery.” He grimaced. “She said if I survived, I had to do something ‘fun and humiliating.’ Her words.”
“And you’re just... going along with it?”
He looked at me again. “I’d rather be talking to you.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, a cheerful voice boomed over the speakers.
The band switched to a lively tune, and the emcee took the stage, tapping the microphone with a mischievous grin.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for our charity auction!
Tonight, we have a very special item up for bid—a date with one of the most eligible bachelors in the world, the very man who made this entire evening possible: Mr. Topher Brodie! ”
Topher’s name echoed through the ballroom, followed by a roar of applause. He winced and took a step back. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “Please.”
I nodded, too stunned to do anything else.
Then he turned and walked onto the stage, every eye following him.
For a second, his eyes found mine in the crowd, lingering just long enough to make my heart skip.
Then, he gave a polite wave to the audience, his expression calm and composed, like this was all perfectly normal.
I gripped my clutch tightly, feeling the sting of embarrassment prickling at the back of my neck.
The emcee leaned into the microphone with a grin. “All proceeds going to Bright Futures, of course. So who’s ready to take a chance on love—and philanthropy?”
A chorus of enthusiastic cheers rose from the crowd. One woman yelled, “I’ll start the bidding at five hundred!”
Another called out, “Make it a thousand!”
Topher chuckled, glancing at the audience, but when his eyes met mine, he hesitated. My heart leaped. But he looked away quickly, giving a polite smile to a woman who’d just yelled, “Two thousand!”
The emcee’s voice boomed over the laughter, “Looks like we’ve got some fierce competition tonight, folks.”
Paddles shot up around the room, and my heart sank as the bids climbed higher and higher. I watched in disbelief as he stood on stage, completely unfazed, nodding politely as the emcee read off each bid with mounting excitement.
“Four thousand!” shouted a woman in a sequined jacket.
“Five!” called another, waving her bidding paddle.
“Six, and I want him to wear that tux on the date!” added someone else from the back.
“For seven thousand, he’ll even dry clean it first,” the emcee joked.
I tried to remind myself that this was all for the charity, that Bright Futures would benefit from every dollar. But, as the price reached nine thousand dollars, the thought of someone else winning a date with Topher was almost too much.
Then a woman whispered something into the emcee’s ear, and his voice took on a dramatic tone. “Ladies and gentlemen, hold onto your seats! We have a bid from a mystery guest calling in from New York! And let me tell you, folks, they are serious about winning this date with Topher Brodie!”
My stomach dropped, and the hurt I’d been trying to hold back surged up all at once.
A mystery guest from New York? It didn’t take much imagination to guess who that might be.
Probably one of those actresses or models he’d been linked to in the tabloids, someone effortlessly glamorous, someone who belonged in his world.
“Fifty thousand dollars!” The emcee’s voice boomed again. The crowd collectively gasped, a ripple of shock and excitement filling the room, followed by a thunderous round of applause. “Going once… going twice… and sold to our New York bidder for a record-breaking donation.”
The emcee clapped along with the audience, practically bouncing with excitement, while Topher gave a modest nod, his expression unreadable as he stepped off the stage. He didn’t look for me as he walked back into the crowd.
Instead, he pulled out his phone, answering a call with a curt nod, murmuring something I couldn’t hear. He glanced at his watch, his brow furrowing as he continued speaking, completely absorbed, as if he had already forgotten he’d just auctioned himself off for fifty thousand dollars.
My cheeks burned with a mix of anger and humiliation. I’d dressed up, came here, let myself hope. And he had auctioned himself off for a date right in front of me.
I set my glass down, taking one last look at the glittering room before making my way to the exit. As I stepped outside, the cool air hit my face, and I took a deep, steadying breath, the weight of everything pressing down on me.
It was time for me to let go of Topher Brodie and move on.