Chapter One #2
She ignored it.
Aaron nodded toward the drink trays. “Coffee.”
She sighed. “Fine.”
He inspected the labels. “Hailey is the iced vanilla latte. Tyler is black coffee. Jack ordered something with enough caramel to qualify as dessert.”
“That sounds right.”
“And Amanda’s is oat milk with cinnamon.”
“Also right.”
He picked up the final cup. “Which makes this yours.”
Meagan accepted it. The label read hot almond milk latte, one pump vanilla, extra foam.
Her order. Exactly.
She looked at him. “Who told you?”
“No one.”
“That is not possible.”
“I remember things.”
“You heard me order coffee once.”
“At the tournament.”
“You were carrying lanterns.”
“You were near the beverage table.”
“That is mildly concerning.”
“I was thirsty.”
“For coffee?”
“It was a long event.”
She studied him over the lid.
Aaron looked unbothered, but there was something deliberate beneath his casual answer.
He remembered.
She had been talking to Hailey. Aaron had been several feet away, helping volunteers break down tables.
He had remembered her coffee order from a conversation he had not been part of.
Meagan’s chest tightened in a small, unfamiliar way.
People remembered that she handled things.
They remembered that she knew which gifts Hailey liked, which restaurants Amanda wanted to try, which client required reassurance before a meeting.
They remembered to call when something needed organizing.
They did not usually remember how she took her coffee.
“Is it wrong?” Aaron asked.
She looked down at the cup.
“No.”
“Too sweet?”
“It’s perfect.”
The word escaped before she could make it smaller.
Aaron’s expression softened.
Meagan took a sip so she would not have to respond. The coffee was warm and exactly what she needed. She closed her eyes for half a second.
When she opened them, Aaron was watching her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
His smile returned. “You looked happy.”
“It’s coffee.”
“Still counts.”
Meagan looked away.
Aaron picked up the tangled lights.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” she said.
“I understand knots.”
“That sounded ominous.”
“I grew up with two younger sisters.”
“And they regularly tangled themselves in string lights?”
“Hair ties. Necklaces. Jump ropes. Once, an extension cord.”
“An extension cord?”
“Long story.”
“Did everyone survive?”
“Emotionally, no.”
A laugh slipped out of her.
Aaron glanced over.
Meagan immediately took another sip.
“What?” she asked.
“You laughed.”
“I do that on occasion.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“We’ve met once.”
“And you insulted me through most of it.”
“You asked if I was lost.”
“You had a suitcase on the beach.”
“That was a reasonable response to arriving directly from the airport.”
“It was memorable.”
Something in his tone made her look at him again.
Aaron had lowered his attention to the lights, but the edge of his mouth curved.
Memorable.
The word stayed with her longer than it should have.
Meagan sat in the folding chair and began sorting volunteer shirts while Aaron worked on the knot. She was resting, technically, but still accomplishing something.
Aaron seemed to understand that asking her to do nothing would be unreasonable.
He also seemed to understand that silence did not always need to be filled.
That surprised her.
Most charming men treated quiet like a problem. They performed against it.
Aaron let it settle.
Every few minutes, he freed another section of lights and wound it neatly around his arm.
Meagan watched longer than necessary.
He glanced up.
She looked at the shirt in her lap.
“Gathering data?” he asked.
“That phrase belongs to Amanda.”
“I’ve spent time with Amanda.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She said something similar about you.”
Meagan’s attention sharpened. “Amanda discussed me?”
“Not extensively.”
“That is not reassuring.”
Aaron smiled. “She said you would pretend you weren’t tired until gravity filed a formal complaint.”
“That sounds more like Jack.”
“It was collaborative.”
“Again, too many people discussing me.”
“They like you.”
“So you keep reminding me.”
“You keep forgetting.”
The words were quiet.
Meagan looked at him.
Aaron continued working, but his expression had changed. Softer now. Less amused.
Something inside her shifted with it.
She cleared her throat. “How do you know Tyler and Jack?”
“I played with them when we were younger.”
“Volleyball?”
“Mostly. Tyler and I went to the same high school. Jack joined every game whether anyone invited him or not.”
“That sounds like Jack.”
“It was either let him play or listen to commentary from the sideline.”
“That also sounds like Jack.”
“I traveled for tournaments with them for a while. Now I work with the West Coast Volleyball Foundation.”
Meagan straightened. “The foundation tied to the gala?”
Aaron’s hands paused. “What gala?”
“Hailey mentioned a possible beachside fundraiser when she was reviewing the foundation paperwork yesterday.”
He gave her a long look. “You were reviewing foundation paperwork?”
“I was helping.”
“Of course you were.”
“There is something wrong with the way you say that.”
“How did I say it?”
“Like helping is a medical condition.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
His gaze moved around the garage.
Meagan lifted her cup. “This proves nothing.”
“It proves you extended a trip, missed a flight, stayed in a hotel for two weeks, and woke up before sunrise to sort table clips.”
“They needed help.”
“Did they?”
She stared at him.
Aaron did not look judgmental.
He looked curious.
As if he wanted to understand the answer instead of correcting it.
Meagan lowered her cup. “Hailey started over here. She left her job, moved across the country, and built a company. Amanda is doing the same thing. They have enough to worry about.”
“And you don’t?”
The question slipped beneath her defenses.
Meagan looked away.
She had work waiting in New York. An apartment she liked well enough. As a senior client operations manager for a brand partnerships firm, Meagan was used to solving problems before anyone else noticed them.
Her calendar held account transitions, event timelines, and client obligations, each one accepted before she had stopped to ask whether she wanted any of them.
Nothing was wrong. Nothing was particularly right either.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Aaron exhaled through his nose.
Meagan’s gaze snapped back to him. “Was that a sigh?”
“No.”
“It was.”
“It may have been a small breath.”
“It was judgmental breathing.”
“I didn’t know breathing had a tone.”
“Yours does.”
He smiled, but his eyes remained on hers.
“You know,” he said, “Hailey said the same thing during tournament setup.”
“What?”
“I’m fine.”
“She probably was.”
“She fell asleep sitting against a box of banners.”
Meagan frowned. “She did not tell me that.”
“Would you have flown out sooner?”
“Yes.”
“That might be why.”
“She should have called.”
“She had people here.”
“That is not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“The point is…” Meagan stopped.
Aaron waited.
The point was that Hailey could have needed her.
The point was that Meagan wanted to be the person people called.
Dependable. Capable. Necessary.
Those words had shaped her life so quietly she had never considered whether they were compliments or a job description.
Aaron loosened another knot. “Your friends love you.”
Meagan’s throat tightened.
“I know.”
“They don’t need you to earn your place by cleaning their garage.”
The words landed too close.
She stood.
Aaron looked up.
“I’m not earning anything.”
“Okay.”
“I’m helping because I want to.”
“I believe you.”
The lack of argument irritated her more than one would have.
“You also think I’m avoiding something.”
“I think taking care of everyone else is easier than deciding what you want next.”
Silence fell.
Meagan stared at him.
Aaron’s expression shifted.
“That may have been too direct.”
“You think?”
“I could blame the coffee.”
“It was your coffee.”
“Then I accept responsibility.”
Despite herself, the corner of her mouth moved.
Aaron set the freed lights on the workbench.
“You could have untangled them,” he said.
“I know.”
“I didn’t help because I thought you couldn’t.”
The tightness in her chest eased.
“Why did you help?”
His expression went still.
The answer should have been obvious. Because Tyler asked. Because there were boxes to move.
Instead, Aaron looked at her like the real answer was both simpler and more dangerous.
“Because you looked like you needed someone to.”
Meagan’s breath caught.
He did not smile or ask for credit.
He simply turned toward the sponsor banners and lifted all four.
Meagan blinked. “Those are heavy.”
“I noticed.”
“You shouldn’t carry all of them at once.”
“I’ll survive.”
“That is exactly what someone says before dropping a banner on his foot.”
Aaron adjusted the stack. “Concerned?”
“Liability-conscious.”
“Of course.”
She grabbed her purse and reached for the volunteer-shirt box.
Aaron caught the edge before she lifted it.
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed. “We discussed your controlling tendencies.”
“We did.”
“And yet.”
“You’re carrying your purse and coffee.”
“I have two hands.”
“And approximately four hours of sleep.”
“Five.”
“That is not the correction you think it is.”
Meagan tightened her grip.
Aaron held the other side.
For one ridiculous second, they stood in the garage, each holding half a box of shirts.
“This is childish,” she said.
“I agree.”
“Let go.”
“You first.”
“You said it was childish.”
“I didn’t say I was above it.”
She stared at him. His mouth twitched. Her own betrayed her.
A laugh escaped.
Aaron released the box.
The sudden shift made her stumble half a step and his free hand closed around her elbow immediately.
Warm. Steady. Meagan froze.
Aaron’s smile faded.
They stood close now, the box wedged between them, his hand curved around her arm. Sunlight stretched through the open garage behind him, catching gold in his eyes.
“Careful,” he said quietly.
Her pulse moved hard beneath her skin.
“I had it.”
“I know you did.”
He kept saying that. Not as a challenge. As if her capability had never been in question.
Meagan looked down at his hand.
Aaron released her at once.
The absence of contact felt more noticeable than the contact itself.