Maya
She knew that the picnic had changed things. She’d heard the apologies, and counted the donations.
And she had looked forward to a handful of people showing up, showing support. And she had hoped she wasn’t getting her hopes up.
Community. She smiled until her face hurt. Maybe it would all be okay.
Reid was here, giving the work his complete attention.
That had always been one of the things Maya loved most about him. If something mattered, he committed.
He crouched near the edge of the path. Sweat darkened the back of his gray T-shirt between the shoulders. Dirt streaked one forearm.
Maya looked away before anyone could catch her staring.
The path itself was beginning to reappear now. What had been narrowed by months of unchecked growth was slowly opening again—wide enough for wheelchairs, for strollers, for people to pass each other.
Reid had said she should be selfish.
Anything you want, he’d told her. I will give to you.
Maya had spent most of her life wanting things for other people. Better sidewalks, better funding, better access.
But Reid had asked her what she wanted.
Not what was practical.
Not what was best for everyone else.
Her grip tightened around the branches in her hands.
What she wanted was standing twenty feet away cutting back hedges in work gloves.
What she wanted was humiliatingly clear.
She wanted his hands on her. His mouth on her. She wanted the focused intensity he brought to everything turned entirely on her body.
One of the volunteers was speaking to her.
“…this pile too?”
“What?” Maya blinked.
The woman lifted a branch slightly. “Do you want this one cut back as well?”
“Yes,” Maya said quickly. “Sorry. Yes.”
The woman nodded and moved away again.
Maya glanced at Reid and this time he was looking back at her. His eyes dropped toward her mouth. As if he was thinking of kissing her.
Awareness rushed through her so suddenly it almost felt physical.
God. Maya remembered those hands everywhere on her body.
She cut through a vine and dragged it back from the path. Around her, people were still working.
The charity had always been bigger than her. It had been this community coming together.
She had told Victoria Hale that there wasn’t any of that left. At the time, it had been true.
Maya looked around her at the cleared trail.
There were still roots lifting the edge, drainage problems near the bend.
But the path had not disappeared. It had just been buried.
Just like the trust and goodwill of this community.
She looked around—at volunteers hauling branches, at Reid crouched in the dirt with his sleeves pushed up past his elbows—and something in her chest came loose.
This was a sign. This was the proof, right here, that if she kept fighting, she would be believed.
Tomorrow she would sit in the deposition and tell the truth.