Chapter Five
Meagan had spent most of Monday morning pretending the photograph did not exist.
This would have been easier if Amanda had not made it the group-chat background.
Every time Meagan opened her phone, she saw herself in Aaron’s arms, lifted above the sand and laughing as though she had never heard of restraint, sensible decisions, or rule six.
She had changed the background twice.
Amanda had changed it back three times.
By eleven, Meagan muted the conversation, placed her phone facedown on the small table in Hailey’s guest room, and returned her attention to the gala seating chart spread across her laptop.
She was not supposed to be working on the seating chart.
That distinction had become irrelevant approximately twenty minutes after Hailey mentioned that the latest version contained several errors.
Meagan had corrected the donor affiliations, moved the scholarship recipients closer to the foundation directors, and separated two sponsors with a complicated professional history. She was currently reviewing meal codes when her phone buzzed.
She ignored it.
It buzzed again.
Then it rang.
Meagan looked at the screen.
Aaron.
Her pulse reacted before she answered.
“Hello.”
“Were you considering pretending you didn’t see my name?”
His voice came warm through the phone.
“No.”
“You waited.”
“I was working.”
“On vacation?”
“I am not on vacation.”
“That sounds like something someone on vacation would say while reorganizing a fundraiser.”
Meagan glanced at the seating chart. “How do you know what I’m doing?”
“Hailey told Tyler. Tyler told me.”
“That communication chain remains deeply concerning.”
“It’s efficient.”
“It’s intrusive.”
“It can be both.”
She heard a car door close on his end.
“Where are you?”
“The foundation office. I’m leaving for the gala venue.”
“Why?”
“The rental company delivered the tables early. Evelyn wants someone to confirm quantities before the florist arrives tomorrow.”
“That should have been done at delivery.”
“It should have.”
“Has anyone checked the invoice?”
“No.”
Meagan looked at the seating chart again.
She should remain where she was.
Hailey had told her to relax. Meagan had attempted to explain that productivity could be relaxing, but Hailey had left for two client meetings before the conversation reached a conclusion.
“You’re asking me to come,” Meagan said.
“I haven’t asked yet.”
“You were going to.”
“I was.”
“Because you think I can’t resist checking a packing list.”
“No.”
Aaron paused.
“Because I wanted to see you.”
The answer entered the room quietly.
Meagan’s fingers tightened around the phone.
Outside the guest-room window, wind moved through the palm fronds beside the bungalow. Somewhere down the street, a car door slammed.
Ordinary sounds.
None of them explained why her heartbeat had become so noticeable.
“You saw me yesterday.”
“I remember.”
The warmth in his voice pulled the photograph into her mind again.
His arms around her. His face lifted toward hers. The way he had looked at her as though no one else was standing on the beach.
Meagan stood and moved toward the window.
“This is preparation,” she said.
“For the gala?”
“Yes. Familiarizing myself with the venue is practical.”
“Extremely.”
“And you need someone to check the rental delivery.”
“I do now.”
“Aaron.”
He laughed softly. “I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”
“I have a rental car.”
“Twenty minutes, then.”
“You cannot negotiate upward when I reject your first offer.”
“I thought you liked negotiations.”
“I like successful negotiations.”
“Then meet me there.”
Meagan looked at the open laptop.
She should finish the seating chart.
She should spend the afternoon doing something that did not involve Aaron’s smile, Aaron’s voice, or Aaron announcing that he wanted to see her as if wanting her company required no explanation.
“I will meet you there.”
“Okay, I’ll text you the address.”
“This does not count as a date.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“You sounded like you were about to.”
“I was breathing.”
“Your breathing remains suspicious.”
“I’ll work on it.”
The call ended.
Meagan stared at the phone for several seconds. Then she changed her blouse. Only because the one she was currently wearing had a small coffee mark near the cuff.
The fact that she tried on two alternatives before choosing a sleeveless cream top was irrelevant.
So was the mascara she reapplied.
Venue walkthroughs frequently required mascara.
Probably.
***
The Shoreline House was less a house than an expensive argument against modesty.
The private venue sat north of the pier behind a low white wall and a row of wind-shaped cypress trees. Pale stone and glass stretched along the bluff, while white canopies covered the lower lawn above a private strip of beach.
Rental tables stood in partially arranged rows. Workers moved chairs from a delivery truck near the service entrance. Beyond them, the ocean flashed silver beneath the midday sun.
Meagan parked beside Aaron’s SUV.
He stood near the open cargo door talking to a man in a black rental-company polo.
Aaron had changed from his foundation shirt into a white button-down and dark trousers. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows.
Apparently, he had discovered the clothing combination most likely to interfere with her judgment and intended to use it repeatedly.
He looked toward her.
His expression changed immediately.
A small lift at the corners of his mouth. Warmth entering his eyes. His shoulders easing as though something he had been waiting for had arrived.
Meagan’s steps slowed.
“Hi,” Aaron said.
One word.
Her pulse treated it like an event.
“Hello.”
The rental employee glanced between them.
Aaron’s gaze moved over her cream blouse. “You changed.”
Meagan stopped. “From what?”
“The gray tank top.”
“That was yesterday.”
“I know.”
“Most people change clothes between days.”
“That’s a good policy.”
His gaze returned to her face.
He was smiling.
“Why did you mention it?”
“You look nice.”
The compliment was simple.
Specific enough to feel sincere.
Not exaggerated enough to dismiss.
“Thank you.”
Aaron’s expression softened as though he liked hearing her accept it.
The rental employee cleared his throat. “The invoice is inside the truck.”
Meagan turned toward him with relief. “May I see it?”
He handed her a clipboard.
Aaron leaned closer as she examined the list.
His shoulder brushed hers.
Neither of them moved away.
“Forty-eight cocktail tables,” Meagan read. “I count thirty-six.”
“Twelve are on the upper terrace,” the employee said.
“And the banquet tables?”
“Inside.”
“There should be twenty-four.”
The employee frowned. “I thought it was twenty.”
“The invoice lists twenty-four. Four are designated for the auction display.”
“We were told the auction moved indoors.”
“It didn’t.”
Aaron glanced at her.
Meagan ignored the small satisfaction warming her chest.
“We’ll confirm with Evelyn,” he said.
His hand rested lightly against the back of Meagan’s arm.
Not possessive. Not necessary. Simply there.
Meagan looked down at it.
Aaron moved his hand away. “Sorry.”
“It was fine.”
The answer came too quickly.
His eyes lifted to hers.
The rental employee became deeply interested in the invoice.
Meagan turned toward the building. “We should check inside.”
The interior of the Shoreline House was cool and quiet, with white stone floors and glass walls overlooking the water.
The ballroom had already been partially arranged. Gold-rimmed glassware sat beside folded ivory napkins. Foundation cards marked each place setting. Without flowers or guests, the room felt elegant but unfinished.
Meagan walked between the tables. She pictured the room Saturday night.
Music and conversation.
Amanda wearing something designed to attract attention from several counties away.
Hailey pretending she had not manipulated the seating chart.
Aaron beside her.
Daniel somewhere across the room.
Her stomach tightened.
“You stopped,” Aaron said.
She turned.
He stood a few feet away, watching her.
“I’m looking at the table placement.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Those tables are too close to the bar.”
“They are.”
“That could create congestion.”
“It could.”
Meagan folded her arms. “Then why did you say I wasn’t looking at them?”
“Because your expression changed before you noticed the tables.”
She exhaled. “You cannot analyze every pause I make.”
“I don’t.”
“It feels like you do.”
Aaron’s expression shifted.
For once, he did not answer immediately.
“I notice when you look like you want help and don’t know how to ask for it.”
The words landed with uncomfortable precision.
“I do not need help.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“Then what are you offering?”
“Company.”
Meagan looked at him. The ballroom seemed quieter.
Aaron rested one hand on the back of a chair.
“No fixing,” he said. “No advice. I can stand beside you while you look at the seating chart.”
“That is a very specific service.”
“I’m expanding the foundation’s community programs.”
Her mouth curved despite herself.
Meagan looked down at the place cards.
Table Four.
Corporate Sponsors.
Daniel Mercer’s name appeared beside Celeste Warren.
Her fingers went still.
Aaron followed her gaze.
“Celeste?”
“His girlfriend.”
“How long have they been together?”
“I don’t know.”
The lie arrived quickly.
Aaron’s expression remained neutral.
She appreciated the effort.
“You don’t have to compete with her,” he said.
Meagan straightened. “I am not competing.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want Daniel back.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why would I be competing?”
Aaron looked at the place card.
“Because someone can hurt you without being someone you still want.”
The answer moved through her carefully arranged defenses.
“Daniel did not hurt me intentionally.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t.”
“He was honest.”
“And so were you.”
She turned toward him. “What does that mean?”
“It means you were exactly who you said you were. Dependable. Thoughtful. Organized. He accepted those things while they made his life easier, then left you wondering whether they also made you easy to leave.”
Meagan’s throat tightened.
“He never said that.”
“No, I know that.”