Chapter Nine
Meagan woke at six-twelve on Sunday morning with Aaron’s name glowing across her phone and the certainty that she had made a terrible mistake.
Not the kiss.
That was the problem.
The kiss had not felt like a mistake.
Neither had dancing beneath the string lights, holding his hand while he carried her shoes, or standing near the stage while he thanked her in front of a ballroom full of people.
Those moments had felt warm.
Easy.
Real.
The mistake had been allowing herself to believe real meant safe.
Meagan stared at the message.
Aaron: Good morning. I hope you slept.
A second appeared.
Aaron: I also hope Amanda did not enter your room before sunrise.
The guest-room handle moved.
Meagan sat upright. “Amanda.”
The door stopped opening.
“I brought coffee.”
“You are not supposed to be here.”
“Hailey gave me a key.”
“Hailey lives here. You do not.”
The door opened anyway.
Amanda stepped inside wearing pink leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, and sunglasses despite the early hour. A cardboard drink tray balanced in one hand. A bakery bag hung from the other.
Hailey followed her with an apologetic expression.
“I tried to stop her.”
“You gave her a key.”
“She already had it.”
“Emergency access,” Amanda explained.
“What emergency?”
Amanda placed a cup on the bedside table. “Rule six was removed.”
“That happened nine hours ago.”
“I needed time to process.”
“You sent thirty-four messages.”
“Two were punctuation.”
Meagan reached for the coffee.
Hot almond milk latte, one pump vanilla, extra foam.
Her fingers paused.
“Aaron ordered it,” Amanda said.
Meagan looked up.
“He stopped at Doris’s before the foundation cleanup,” Hailey explained. “He brought coffee for everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“Tyler, Jack, Amanda, me, and you.”
“That sounds like everyone.”
Amanda removed her sunglasses. “He also asked whether you were awake in a voice suggesting emotional consequences.”
“I am not discussing his voice.”
“Can we discuss the beach?”
“No.”
“The kiss?”
“No.”
“The hand-holding?”
“No.”
“The public speech?”
“No.”
Amanda looked at Hailey. “She is listing the romantic moments in order.”
“I am answering your questions.”
“With excellent recall.”
“I remember things.”
The words left Meagan before she could stop them.
Aaron’s voice returned immediately.
I remember things.
Her coffee order. Her expressions. The way she laughed before remembering to guard it.
Meagan set the cup down.
Hailey sat beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Both women looked at her.
Meagan exhaled. “You need different expressions.”
“We have the same expression because you gave the same answer,” Amanda said.
Meagan climbed out of bed and crossed toward the window.
The street outside was quiet. Morning sunlight caught along the roofs of parked cars. A cyclist passed at the end of the block.
Santa Monica looked calm.
As though nothing important had happened the night before.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, the message was from her supervisor.
We need your Monday schedule confirmed by ten. The Halston transition cannot remain unassigned.
A deadline. A responsibility. A clean reason to return to the life she understood.
Meagan locked the screen.
“The gala is over.”
Silence followed.
Amanda sat very still.
Hailey watched her with concern.
“What?” Meagan asked.
“Did Aaron say something?” Amanda asked.
“He said several things.”
“Bad things?”
“No.”
“Then why do you sound like you’re ending a relationship before breakfast?”
“There is no relationship.”
Amanda opened her mouth.
Hailey touched her arm.
Meagan continued before either could interrupt.
“There was an arrangement because Daniel would be at the gala. Daniel is no longer a problem. The arrangement served its purpose.”
“The arrangement ended on the beach,” Amanda said.
“Exactly.”
“That is not what I meant.”
Meagan looked out the window again. She had asked Aaron to kiss her. She had stood in his arms while he described what he wanted.
More mornings.
More coffee.
To be the person she called when nothing needed fixing.
He had not demanded an answer. That should have made the choice easier. Instead, the freedom felt enormous.
Without pressure, Meagan could not tell herself she was agreeing because Aaron needed something.
Without a problem to solve, she had to decide based entirely on what she wanted.
Meagan did not trust decisions that vulnerable.
“People do not build lives around one good week.”
“No,” Hailey said. “They decide whether they want another one.”
“That is oversimplified.”
“Probably.”
Amanda stood.
“You do not have to stay in California,” she said.
The seriousness in her voice made Meagan turn.
“You do not have to change jobs. You do not have to move. You do not have to promise Aaron anything beyond what you actually want.”
“That is the problem.”
Amanda frowned.
Meagan wrapped her arms around herself.
“I don’t know how to want something without immediately becoming responsible for what happens next.”
The room quieted.
Hailey moved closer.
“You are not responsible for every possible ending.”
“I am responsible for my choices.”
“Yes.”
“And choosing Aaron affects him.”
“So does refusing to choose him because you are frightened.”
Meagan looked away.
Her phone buzzed.
Aaron: I’m heading to the foundation office after cleanup. I’d like to see you, but you don’t owe me an answer today.
Of course.
No pressure.
No demand.
No way to turn his feelings into a task she could complete correctly.
Amanda looked toward the phone.
“What did he say?”
“That I do not owe him an answer.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Do you want to give him one?”
Meagan stared at his name.
“Yes.”
The answer escaped before she could arrange it.
Hailey’s expression softened.
Meagan picked up her coffee.
“I need to talk to him.”
Amanda nodded. “I can help prepare—”
“No.”
“I have index cards.”
“No.”
“Supportive transportation?”
“I have a rental car.”
Amanda looked at Hailey. “She is rejecting all my best qualities.”
Hailey took Amanda’s arm. “We should go.”
“We just arrived.”
“You entered without permission.”
“I brought food.”
“You can leave it.”
Amanda collected her sunglasses.
At the doorway, she stopped.
“Do not call fear practicality.”
Then she left.
Hailey remained.
“He will respect whatever you say.”
“I know.”
“That may make it harder.”
Meagan looked down at Aaron’s message.
“Yes.”
Hailey kissed her cheek and followed Amanda into the hallway.
Meagan stood alone beside the window.
On the bedside table, Aaron’s coffee waited for her.
Exactly right.
That was part of the problem too.
***
The foundation office felt different without people.
No phones rang. No volunteers carried boxes through the hallway. No Evelyn issued instructions from behind a clipboard.
The photographs Meagan and Aaron had organized now hung in simple gold frames along the reception wall.
Meagan stopped in front of the first display.
The girl in the oversized foundation shirt held a volleyball beneath one arm and grinned at the camera.
The caption read:
FIRST SUMMER YOUTH CLINIC
Learning confidence, teamwork, and joy—one serve at a time.
Meagan had written the first line.
Aaron had added joy.
She had called it sentimental.
He had said the photograph required it.
A door opened behind her.
Meagan turned.
Aaron stood at the end of the hallway.
He wore dark shorts and a foundation T-shirt damp near the collar from the cleanup. His hair was windblown. Sand clung to one shin.
His expression warmed when he saw her.
Then he read her face.
The warmth remained, but caution entered beside it.
“You came.”
“I said I would.”
“I know.”
He walked toward her and stopped several feet away.
Meagan had never been more aware of someone choosing not to touch her.
“How was the cleanup?” she asked.
“Successful.”
“How many volunteers?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Did the rental company collect everything?”
“Yes.”
“The auction tables?”
“Yes.”
Aaron studied her.
“You don’t care about the tables.”
Meagan tightened her grip on her purse.
“No.”
Silence settled.
Aaron placed both hands in his pockets.
The gesture brought her back to the ballroom after their first kiss.
Giving her space.
Protecting her from the hope in his hands.
“The gala is over,” she said.
“Yes.”
“The arrangement is over.”
“I know.”
“We do not need to pretend anymore.”
“No.”
He made every answer simple.
She had expected him to make this difficult.
Part of her had wanted him to.
“I need to return to New York.”
Aaron’s face changed, though only slightly.
“Is that what you decided?”
“My office needs an answer.”
“That was not what I asked.”
The familiar words moved through her.
“My work is there.”
“I know.”
“My apartment is there.”
“I know that too.”
“The Halston project begins tomorrow.”
“Do you want it?”
“It is important.”
“Do you want it?”
Meagan looked toward the photographs.
“This cannot be decided by what I want in one emotional moment.”
“No.”
Aaron’s agreement caught her off guard.
She looked back at him.
“It should be decided by what you want after the emotion settles,” he said.
“That could take time.”
“Yes.”
“People are waiting.”
“Your supervisor is waiting for an answer about Monday.”
“And you?”
Aaron’s jaw tightened.
“I’m not giving you a deadline.”
The answer hurt.
“You said you wanted more.”
“I do.”
“And now you are standing there acting as though it does not matter whether I leave.”
His expression sharpened.
“I am trying very hard not to act like that.”
The first crack in his patience startled her.
Aaron removed his hands from his pockets.
“I do not want you to leave.”
The words came quietly.
“I want Tuesday. And Wednesday. I want breakfast without a gala and volleyball without an audience. I want to know what your face looks like when you wake up after more than five hours of sleep.”
Her throat tightened.
“But I will not ask you to stay because you are afraid disappointing me will make you a bad person.”
“That is not why.”
“Isn’t it?”
Meagan looked away.
Aaron took one step closer.
Then stopped.
“I can tell you what I want,” he said. “I cannot make your decision for you.”
“You make everything sound reasonable.”
“I am not feeling reasonable.”