Chapter Six #3
She frowned. “You just told me you wanted to kiss me.”
“I did.”
“And now you’re saying nothing has to happen.”
“Yes.”
“That does not make sense.”
“It does to me.”
His voice remained calm.
“I can want something without expecting you to give it to me.”
Meagan stared at him.
Every relationship had expectations. Every friendship had exchanges.
She remembered birthdays, solved problems, arrived early, stayed late, and made herself available before anyone had to ask.
In return, people trusted her. Relied on her. Called her one of the best people they knew.
Being wanted without first providing something useful did not fit any system she understood.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?”
“Why do you want anything from me?”
The question sounded harsher aloud.
More vulnerable.
Meagan looked away.
“I did not mean—”
“I know what you meant.”
Aaron was quiet long enough that she considered standing.
Then he spoke.
“The first night I saw you, you arrived at a beach tournament with a suitcase.”
Meagan looked back.
“You looked exhausted. Your flight had been delayed. You had probably eaten something terrible in an airport.”
“A bag of pretzels.”
“I knew it.”
“You did not.”
“You had the expression.”
“What expression?”
“The one that says you’ve forgiven the world for inconveniencing you, but you’re keeping records.”
Despite herself, she laughed.
Aaron smiled.
“You walked onto that beach and immediately looked for your friends. Not to see whether they noticed you. To see whether they needed anything.”
Meagan’s smile faded.
Aaron’s expression shifted.
He stopped.
The restraint was visible. There was more he could say. More he had noticed. He chose not to give her all of it.
Meagan looked down at the caption cards.
“No one talks about me that way.”
“What way?”
“As though they notice what I do before they need it.”
Aaron remained quiet.
“People say I’m dependable,” she continued. “Organized. Thoughtful. Responsible.”
“All true.”
“They say they don’t know what they would do without me.”
“I’m sure they mean it.”
“They do.”
That was what made the admission difficult.
Her friends loved her. Her colleagues valued her. Her family depended on her.
She was not invisible. She was simply seen most clearly through the shape of what she provided.
“I know I’m appreciated,” she said.
Aaron waited.
Meagan’s fingers tightened around the cards.
“I just don’t know whether I have ever been chosen when I wasn’t also useful.”
The sentence sat between them.
Bare.
Aaron did not rush to contradict her.
He did not tell her Daniel had been an idiot or promise that he was different.
He simply looked at her.
The attention made her want to retreat.
It also made her want to stay.
Aaron’s hand rested near the center of the table.
Open. Not extended. Not asking.
Meagan looked at it.
Then placed her hand over his.
Aaron went still.
The contact was small.
Her palm against the back of his hand.
More frightening than the kiss.
His skin was warm.
He turned his hand slowly beneath hers, giving her time to pull away.
She did not.
Their palms met.
His fingers closed gently around hers.
The same easy fit she remembered from Hailey’s kitchen.
Except no one was watching this time. There was no practice. No reason to pretend.
Aaron’s thumb moved once against her hand.
Meagan breathed.
“This feels real,” she said.
The words escaped before she could retrieve them.
Aaron’s thumb stopped.
The air shifted.
Meagan’s heartbeat became painfully clear.
She had said too much.
Aaron did not seize the opening.
He waited.
That was somehow worse.
Meagan pulled her hand away.
The loss of warmth moved through her immediately.
“I meant the conversation.”
“Of course.”
“And the photographs.”
“The photographs feel real?”
“The foundation history.”
“Right.”
She reached for the caption cards.
“We should finish.”
Aaron looked at her for one moment longer.
Then returned to his stack.
“Okay.”
The agreement was soft.
No judgment.
No attempt to make her explain.
That almost made her reach for him again.
They completed the display in another hour.
The final layout included five sections: youth clinics, scholarships, community tournaments, athlete ambassadors, and foundation milestones.
Meagan wrote the center caption.
Twenty years of building confidence, community, and opportunity—one player at a time.
Aaron read it over her shoulder.
“That’s good.”
“It is accurate.”
“It can be both.”
They packed the remaining photographs and carried the finished display into the main conference room.
The office had quieted.
Aaron placed the display against the wall.
Meagan checked the time.
Three-fifteen.
She had spent more than five hours at the foundation. Three of them alone with Aaron.
“I should go.”
Aaron nodded. “Okay.”
No attempt to extend the afternoon. No reminder of what he wanted. No request for an answer she did not have.
Meagan gathered her purse and notebook.
At the office door, she stopped.
Aaron stood behind the reception desk returning frames to a cabinet.
He looked up.
She wanted to tell him the conversation had mattered.
That no one had ever described her with such specificity.
That when he said he wanted to kiss her before Daniel entered the room, part of her had believed him before the rest of her could object.
She wanted to tell him their fake relationship felt safer than the real one she had built with Daniel.
That his restraint did not make his wanting smaller.
It made it harder to dismiss.
“Aaron.”
He closed the cabinet. “Yes?”
Meagan held the strap of her purse with both hands.
The words were there.
This feels real.
Not the conversation.
Not the photographs.
This.
Whatever had been happening since the moment he walked into Hailey’s garage carrying coffee and saw too much.
She opened her mouth.
Her phone rang.
The sound broke through the office.
Her supervisor in New York.
Reality returned with remarkable efficiency.
Work.
Deadlines.
A life waiting for her to resume it.
She silenced the call.
Aaron had seen the name.
“You should answer.”
“I can call back.”
“You don’t have to stay because of me.”
The words were meant kindly.
They still felt like an exit.
Meagan straightened.
“I wasn’t.”
Something changed in his expression. She regretted the answer immediately.
Aaron nodded once.
“Of course.”
The distance she had wanted reappeared between them.
Clean. Protective. Painful.
“I’ll see you Saturday,” she said.
“At the gala.”
“Yes.”
Aaron’s mouth curved faintly.
“Right.”
Meagan opened the door.
“Thank you for today.”
“For the photographs?”
“For helping.”
“You didn’t need help.”
“I know.”
His expression softened.
Meagan stepped into the hallway.
She had nearly reached the stairs when he called her name.
She turned.
Aaron stood in the office doorway.
“I meant what I said.”
Her heartbeat shifted.
“Which part?”
His gaze held hers.
“The part I stopped before I said too much.”
The hallway seemed too narrow. Meagan tightened her grip on her notebook.
Aaron did not explain. Did not give her the rest. He simply waited until she nodded. Then he went back inside.
Meagan walked down the stairs before curiosity could become courage.
Outside, the afternoon sun reflected off the ocean.
Her phone rang again. This time, she answered.
Her supervisor began discussing an account transition, a client deadline, and whether Meagan planned to return to New York before the end of the week.
Meagan looked toward the foundation building.
Through the second-floor window, she could see Aaron moving past the completed display.
He stopped near it.
Even from a distance, she recognized the shape of him.
Steady.
Patient.
Wanting something he had chosen not to name completely.
“Meagan?” her supervisor said. “Are you still there?”
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Will you be back Monday?”
The question should have had a simple answer.
She had an apartment in New York.
A job.
A return flight she could book in minutes.
Nothing had changed. Except everything had.
Meagan opened her eyes.
Aaron had moved away from the window.
“I don’t know,” she said.
The admission startled both of them.
Her supervisor paused. “Should we discuss your schedule tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“That would be helpful.”
Meagan almost laughed.
Helpful. Dependable. Reliable.
The familiar words no longer felt sufficient.
She ended the call and remained beside the car.
Her hand still remembered Aaron’s.
Her lips still remembered his kiss.
Inside the foundation office was a man who had looked at her when she was doing nothing for him and had still stopped himself before saying too much.
Meagan had spent years believing she was the safe choice.
For the first time, she wondered whether safety had never been the problem.
Perhaps the problem was that she had accepted being appreciated when what she wanted was to be chosen.
She opened the car door.
On the passenger seat, her notebook fell open.
The morning list was visible.
Confirm meal selections.Review sponsor placements.Finalize auction-table assignments.Do not discuss the kiss.
Every practical item had been completed.
The final instruction had failed completely.
Meagan drew a line through it. Then wrote beneath it:
Do not let this become real.
She stared at the words.
The rule was clear.
Practical.
Necessary.
And already far too late.