Chapter Seven #2
She had not promised him Sunday. Much less Tuesday.
Amanda studied her face.
“It may only be a court reservation.”
“It is a plan.”
“You like plans.”
“I like making them.”
The front door opened.
“Anyone here?” Tyler called.
Meagan relaxed slightly.
Then another male voice entered the hallway.
“I’m with him.”
Aaron.
Her pulse moved hard beneath her skin.
“He said four-thirty,” she said.
Hailey checked the time. “It is four-twenty-seven.”
Meagan stared at the clock.
The afternoon had disappeared inside fabric, conversation, and thoughts she had not organized.
Amanda started toward the bedroom door.
“I’ll let him in.”
“No.”
Both women stopped.
Meagan looked down at herself.
The dress had not been hemmed.
She wore no shoes.
Her hair was unstyled except for the waves Amanda had tested on one side.
One eye had mascara because Hailey had wanted to compare formulas.
“This is not the finished look.”
Amanda smiled.
“Even better.”
“There is no better.”
Footsteps moved through the house.
Tyler said something about a box of programs in his trunk.
Aaron answered.
His voice came closer.
Meagan stood in the middle of the room wearing the dark blue dress, barefoot, half prepared, and entirely without a plan.
That was probably why she did not move before Aaron appeared in the doorway.
He stopped and the room went silent.
Aaron had changed for the rehearsal: dark trousers, a white shirt, and a navy jacket folded over one arm. His hair was neatly combed but already losing the argument near the front, and the faint shadow along his jaw made him look less polished than Daniel would have.
Warmer.
Real.
His gaze found Meagan and stayed there.
There was no smile. No charming comment. No polite compliment delivered quickly enough to rescue them both from the moment.
He simply looked at her.
His attention moved from her face to the dark blue fabric at her shoulders, then lower, following the line of the dress.
Not greedily.
Not critically.
As though he wanted to remember every detail and had forgotten anyone else was present.
Meagan’s skin warmed beneath the fabric.
Aaron’s gaze returned to her face. His expression changed. Something opened in it.
Wonder, perhaps.
Or the same emotion she had seen in the volleyball photograph, stripped now of surprise and sunlight.
The look made the room disappear around them.
Meagan forgot the unfinished hem.
The single made-up eye.
The message about Tuesday.
Aaron took one step into the room.
Then stopped again.
“Hi,” he said.
His voice sounded lower.
Meagan swallowed. “Hello.”
Amanda made a small sound.
Neither of them looked at her.
Aaron’s hand tightened around the jacket draped over his arm.
“Is that for Saturday?”
Meagan nodded.
“We were deciding.”
His gaze moved over her again.
Slowly this time.
“What do you think?” Amanda asked.
Aaron did not answer immediately.
Amanda’s eyebrows rose.
Tyler appeared behind him carrying a cardboard box.
He looked from Aaron to Meagan, assessed the situation, and backed into the hallway.
“I’ll put these in the living room.”
Hailey followed him.
“I’ll help.”
Amanda remained.
Meagan looked at her.
“Out.”
“I am part of the wardrobe team.”
“You have completed your assignment.”
Aaron finally glanced at Amanda.
“Could you give us a minute?”
Amanda looked thrilled.
“Absolutely.”
Meagan turned toward her. “You have never agreed to anything that quickly.”
“I respect romance.”
“This is not—”
Amanda slipped into the hallway and closed the door behind her.
Meagan stared at it.
“They are listening.”
“I know.”
Aaron remained near the doorway.
The distance between them felt deliberate now. Something he had chosen to preserve until she decided otherwise.
Meagan turned toward the mirror.
“The hem is not finished.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“One side of my makeup is incomplete.”
“I noticed even less.”
She looked at him through the mirror.
Aaron’s gaze held hers in the reflection.
“What do you think of the dress?”
The question should have felt ordinary.
It did not.
Aaron crossed the room slowly. He stopped several feet behind her.
Not touching.
Close enough that she could see both of them in the mirror.
The dark blue dress.
His white shirt.
The space between their bodies.
They already looked like a couple.
Aaron’s eyes moved over her reflection.
“You’re beautiful.”
Meagan’s breath caught.
He had called her beautiful before. At the foundation office, the word had been part of an explanation.
Now it stood alone.
No qualifiers. No attempt to make it easier to accept.
Meagan looked down at the dress.
“It may be too much.”
“No.”
“The gala is cocktail attire.”
“I know.”
“Several donors will be dressed conservatively.”
“Meagan.”
She looked up.
Aaron had stepped closer.
Still not touching.
His reflection stood directly behind hers.
“You’re not too much.”
The words struck someplace deeper than the dress.
Meagan’s fingers tightened around the skirt.
“I meant the dress.”
“I didn’t.”
Her heartbeat changed.
Aaron was not praising her because he wanted something.
He was correcting the instinct that made her reduce herself before anyone else could decide she required less.
Meagan looked into the mirror again.
“I’m not used to this.”
“The dress?”
“You looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“That is an unfair question.”
“I want to know.”
Meagan met his gaze in the reflection.
“Like I’m the only person here.”
His expression softened.
“You are the only person here.”
“Amanda is pressed against the door.”
A muffled protest came from the hallway.
“I am not pressed against anything,” Amanda called.
Aaron smiled.
Meagan did too.
The tension shifted but did not disappear.
Aaron moved closer.
His hand lifted, then stopped before reaching her.
Permission.
Meagan understood the question.
She nodded.
Aaron’s fingers touched the loose wave of hair near her shoulder.
He moved it gently behind her back, exposing the crossed straps of the dress.
The backs of his fingers brushed her skin.
Meagan inhaled.
His gaze moved over her reflection again.
“This dress is dangerous.”
Her pulse jumped.
“Amanda said emotionally devastating.”
“She was right.”
“I will never tell her that.”
“I value my safety too.”
His hand dropped.
The absence of contact felt immediate.
Meagan turned to face him.
They stood close now.
Not touching.
The rules had become less useful every day.
“This is only a rehearsal,” she said.
Aaron looked at the dress.
“You’re wearing that to the rehearsal?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She frowned. “Why good?”
“Because I have to work.”
The answer reached her slowly. Warmth rose into her face.
Aaron smiled.
Not his easy smile. This one carried restraint beneath it.
Meagan looked toward his mouth.
The first kiss returned instantly.
The warmth of his hand at her jaw.
The surprise in his breath when she followed him.
That had been for show.
This was not.
No Daniel.
No reason to kiss him other than wanting to.
Meagan stepped back.
The movement was small and Aaron noticed. His expression shifted, but he did not follow.
“I should change.”
“Okay.”
The acceptance came immediately. Too easily.
“You keep doing that.”
“What?”
“Letting me step away.”
“I told you I would.”
“I know.”
“Do you want me not to?”
The question stopped her. The honest answer was sometimes. Sometimes she wanted him to make remaining near him easier than leaving.
She wanted him to ask. To risk something. To make the choice feel shared instead of entirely hers to carry.
That was unfair.
He had been clear and patient. He could not decide for her simply because she was afraid to decide for herself.
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
Aaron nodded.
“Then I’ll keep giving you room.”
Meagan looked down.
“Does that disappoint you?”
“Yes.”
The honesty lifted her gaze.
Aaron’s expression remained gentle.
No punishment.
No attempt to make his disappointment her responsibility.
“Yes,” he repeated. “But it doesn’t make me angry.”
Meagan’s throat tightened.
Her phone remained on the dresser behind them.
Tuesday waited inside it.
“You reserved a volleyball court.”
Aaron’s expression changed.
“I did.”
“For Tuesday.”
“Yeah.”
“I may be in New York.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you reserve it?”
He looked toward the phone.
“I thought you might still be here.”
“You did not say might.”
“No, I know.”
The warmth between them tightened.
Aaron shifted the jacket over his arm.
“I should have.”
Meagan folded her arms.
“You made a plan that included me.”
“I did.”
“Without asking whether I would be here.”
“I assumed—”
He stopped.
The word landed before he finished.
Meagan went still.
Aaron closed his eyes briefly.
“That was the wrong word.”
“It was an accurate one.”
“I hoped you would be here.”
“That is different from assuming.”
“Yes.”
“Which did you do?”
He looked at her.
“Both.”
The honesty should have helped but it didn’t.
Meagan turned toward the mirror. The dress suddenly felt more exposing. Not because of the slit or bare shoulders. Because Aaron had begun placing her inside his life.
Tuesday morning. A reserved court. Breakfast afterward, probably.
Something ordinary enough to resemble a future.
“I never said I was staying.”
“I know you didn’t.”
“You know my office expects me Monday.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel offered me a director opportunity.”
Aaron’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Meagan noticed.
“You did not mention that.”
“It was not official.”
“Is it something you want?”
“That is not the point.”
“What is?”
“The point is that my life did not stop existing because I missed a flight.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
Aaron went quiet.
Meagan hated the hurt she saw enter his face.
She hated more that part of her wanted him to deny everything.
To tell her Tuesday had meant nothing.
That he had reserved the court because it was available, not because he had imagined her beside him.
Instead, he answered honestly.
“I know your life exists in New York.”
“But you made plans here.”
“I made one plan.”
“For after the arrangement ends.”
The words changed the room.
Aaron’s expression stilled.
Meagan heard the sharpness in her voice and could not take it back.