Chapter Four
Meagan had agreed to participate in a casual beach volleyball match.
That was the official version.
The more accurate version was that five people had coordinated against her, Aaron had smiled at exactly the wrong moment, and Meagan had failed to invent a convincing scheduling conflict before nine o’clock on a Sunday morning.
She stood at the edge of the foundation’s beach courts wearing black athletic shorts, a pale gray tank top, and the expression of a woman reviewing several regrettable decisions.
Amanda appeared beside her in bright pink shorts, a white sports bra beneath an open mesh tank, and mirrored sunglasses.
“You look nervous.”
“I am not nervous.”
“You’ve checked your shoelaces four times.”
Meagan glanced down.
Her shoes were tied securely.
“That is basic safety.”
“We’re playing barefoot.”
Meagan looked toward the courts.
Almost everyone had removed their shoes and left them beside a row of folding chairs. Blue-and-white foundation banners fluttered along the perimeter, and two tables held water, fruit, sunscreen, and several boxes of pastries.
The sand was already crowded with volunteers, sponsors, and former athletes stretching or passing volleyballs over the nets.
Meagan turned back to Amanda. “I know we are playing barefoot.”
“You’re still wearing shoes.”
“I was evaluating the sand.”
“You were delaying.”
“No I wasn’t.”
Amanda smiled. “You’re cute when you’re avoiding things.”
“That is an inappropriate use of the word cute.”
Meagan bent to untie her shoes.
The sand pressed cool beneath her feet when she stepped onto it. She flexed her toes once, then immediately regretted doing so where Amanda could see her.
Amanda said nothing.
The silence was worse.
“Do not.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were preparing to.”
“I was admiring your commitment to assessment.”
“That word belongs to me.”
“You use it often enough that it belongs to the group now.”
Meagan straightened and looked toward the court.
Aaron was speaking with Tyler near the net.
He wore black board shorts and a navy foundation tank that left his shoulders bare. Sunglasses covered his eyes, and a volleyball rested against one hip while Tyler pointed toward the clipboard in his hand.
Sunlight caught along Aaron’s arms.
Meagan looked away.
Amanda made a soft sound.
“That was a comment,” Meagan said.
“It was breathing.”
“Your breathing has become extremely suspicious.”
Hailey approached carrying three bottles of water. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and Tyler’s foundation shirt was knotted loosely at her waist.
“I brought reinforcements.”
Meagan accepted a bottle. “Did you know Aaron would be my partner?”
Hailey took a drink.
“That is not an answer.”
“Tyler makes balanced teams.”
“Does he?”
Behind her, Tyler lifted his clipboard.
“Aaron and Meagan, Court Two.”
Amanda pushed her sunglasses higher. “Extremely subtle.”
Meagan looked at Hailey.
Hailey smiled.
“You are not as innocent as you pretend to be.”
“I never said I was innocent.”
“That is worse.”
Hailey’s smile widened.
She looked happy.
Not the nervous happiness Meagan had noticed when she first arrived in California. This was quieter. Settled. Hailey stood barefoot in the sand with the ocean behind her and Tyler glancing toward her even while he organized the teams.
She belonged here.
The realization brought a small ache beneath Meagan’s ribs.
She was happy for Hailey.
She was.
The feeling simply carried a question Meagan had spent two weeks avoiding.
Where did she belong?
“Good morning.”
Aaron’s voice reached her from the side.
Meagan turned.
He had removed his sunglasses. His hazel eyes moved over her face, down briefly to her clothes, then back again.
Something warm entered his expression.
“You came.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I was hopeful.”
The simple answer carried more meaning than it should have.
Meagan opened her water bottle. “I said I might be busy.”
“And then you asked what to wear.”
“That was information gathering.”
“Useful information?”
“Barely.”
Aaron looked at her bare feet. “You took off your shoes.”
“That appears to be the accepted practice.”
“Good assessment.”
“I do not require encouragement for basic observational skills.”
“You may require encouragement for other things.”
Her fingers tightened around the bottle.
Amanda stepped closer. “She is not wearing your shirt.”
Aaron looked at Meagan’s gray tank. “I noticed.”
There was something entirely too appreciative in his tone.
Meagan took a drink of water.
“I did not ask to wear his shirt.”
“You discussed it yesterday,” Amanda said.
“He made a joke.”
“I made an offer,” Aaron corrected.
“It was not a real offer.”
Aaron nodded toward a canvas bag beneath the foundation table. A folded navy shirt rested on top.
“I brought an extra.”
Meagan lowered the bottle. “You brought me a shirt?”
“You said you owned very few things you didn’t mind getting sandy.”
“That was a statement.”
“I heard a need.”
Amanda placed one hand over her heart.
Meagan pointed toward the court. “Shouldn’t you be warming up?”
“I’m waiting for Jack.”
“Where is he?”
“He volunteered to get ice.”
“Did he volunteer?”
“I explained that I was already dressed.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“It answers the important part.”
Aaron rolled the volleyball between his hands. “Do you want to warm up?”
Meagan glanced toward the court.
Several volunteers were passing balls over the net. One attempted an overhand serve, sent it sideways, and nearly struck Evelyn at the registration table.
Evelyn caught the ball against her clipboard without looking up.
“I am beginning to understand why they needed more players,” Meagan said.
“It’s casual.”
“That word continues to concern me.”
Aaron stepped backward onto the sand.
“Come on.”
Meagan followed.
Only because refusing in front of Amanda would become a documented event.
Aaron stopped several feet from the sideline and tossed her the ball.
She caught it against her chest.
“Show me what you remember.”
She had played indoor recreational volleyball in college, mostly in campus leagues where the floors were level, the wind stayed outside, and no former professional athletes watched her serve.
“I remember how to pass.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t.”
“You sounded skeptical.”
“I sounded interested.”
“That word is becoming dangerously flexible.”
Aaron bent his knees slightly.
Meagan tossed the ball toward him.
He passed it back gently.
She brought her arms together and returned it. The contact stung more than she expected, and the ball drifted toward his right.
He moved beneath it easily.
The next return came directly to her.
Meagan adjusted her stance and passed it cleanly back.
“Good,” Aaron said.
“It was a pass.”
“It was a good pass.”
“I understand how adjectives work.”
“I’m trying to be supportive.”
“You sound surprised.”
His mouth curved. “You may be slightly defensive.”
“I may be playing volleyball before breakfast.”
“There are pastries.”
“Pastries are not breakfast.”
“You ate a lemon scone yesterday.”
“Under supervision.”
Aaron laughed.
The sound moved easily across the space between them.
Meagan sent the next pass harder than necessary.
He absorbed it without difficulty.
“Competitive?”
“No.”
The following ball traveled directly at his chest.
Aaron caught it.
Meagan lifted her eyebrows.
He smiled. “Noted.”
They continued.
The rhythm returned faster than she expected. Her body remembered the basics—the bend of her knees, the angle of her arms, and the small adjustments beneath the ball.
The sand complicated everything.
Each step sank rather than pushed. The ocean breeze shifted the ball at the last second, forcing her to correct.
Aaron never sent it farther than she could reach.
He also never made it too easy.
When her passes improved, his became sharper. He changed direction, added height, and forced her to move.
Not enough to embarrass her.
Enough to trust her.
“You’re testing me,” she said after reaching a ball near the sideline.
“I’m warming you up.”
“You sent that five feet to my left.”
“And you got it.”
“That is not a defense.”
“It’s an observation.”
Before Meagan could respond, a volleyball struck Aaron between the shoulder blades.
He turned.
Jack stood on the other side of the net holding a bag of ice and looking entirely unrepentant.
“Sorry,” Jack said.
“You threw it.”
“It slipped.”
“You were twenty feet away.”
“Long slip.”
Amanda hurried toward him. “You got the ice.”
“I was given one task.”
“And you completed it.”
“I usually do.”
She rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek.
Jack’s expression changed immediately.
Meagan looked away.
Aaron did not.
“Should we give them privacy?” he asked.
“They are standing beside a public court.”
“That has not discouraged them before.”
Amanda reached for the ice. Jack held it above her head.
She placed both hands on his shoulders and attempted to climb him.
He caught her around the waist, laughing.
“They are impossible,” Meagan said.
“They’re happy.”
The quiet statement pulled her attention back to Aaron.
He watched Amanda and Jack with a faint smile. There was no envy in it.
Only recognition.
As though happiness was something he trusted.
Aaron tossed the ball lightly toward her.
She caught it.
“You went somewhere again,” he said.
“I am standing in front of you.”
“Physically.”
“You need new material.”
“I’m waiting for a new answer.”
Meagan rolled the ball between her palms. “I was thinking that Amanda and Jack are unusually public.”
“That is diplomatic.”
“They appear unconcerned by witnesses.”
“Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Concerned by witnesses.”
Her pulse shifted.
“To volleyball?”
“To anything.”
The question settled between them.
Aaron’s tone was light, but his gaze held hers with quiet attention.
Meagan looked toward the courts.
Hailey and Tyler were speaking near the net. Tyler adjusted the back of Hailey’s visor, then rested his hand briefly at her waist. Amanda was arguing with Jack over whether throwing volleyballs qualified as flirting.
No one appeared to be waiting for Meagan’s answer.
That did not make it easier.
“I prefer privacy,” she said.