Chapter Ten
Aaron read Meagan’s message three times.
I don’t want the arrangement back.
The first time, he focused on arrangement.
The second time, he focused on back.
The third time, his heartbeat changed.
He stared at the screen, trying not to interpret six words as more than they were.
The fake relationship had ended. Meagan had made that clear. Maybe she only wanted him to understand that she was not asking to return to the same temporary rules.
Or maybe—
The door to his office opened.
Evelyn entered carrying two sponsor folders and stopped when she saw him.
“You look concerned.”
Aaron placed the phone facedown on his desk. “I’m working.”
“You have been staring at your phone since I walked past the window.”
“That was less than a minute ago.”
“It was long enough.”
She placed the folders in front of him but did not release them.
The foundation office had officially reopened thirty minutes earlier, although most of the staff were still recovering from the gala. Aaron had arrived early to finish sponsor reports, update clinic registrations, and avoid thinking about Meagan’s possible flight.
He had failed at the last task.
Evelyn studied him through her red-framed glasses. “Is Meagan leaving?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want her to?”
Aaron looked at her.
Evelyn sighed. “Poorly phrased.”
“Extremely.”
“I know you don’t want her to leave. Do you want her to stay because of you?”
Aaron leaned back in his chair.
“No.”
Evelyn’s eyebrows rose.
“I want her to stay if she wants a life here,” he said. “I want to be part of it, but I don’t want to become another reason she ignores what she wants.”
“That sounds inconveniently reasonable.”
“I’m trying something new.”
Evelyn released the folders.
“She likes you.”
“I know.”
The certainty in his own voice surprised him.
Meagan liked him.
She had kissed him when no one was watching. She had crossed out the final rule. She had admitted that being wanted by him frightened her.
None of that meant she was ready to choose a real relationship.
Aaron understood the difference.
Understanding did not make waiting easier.
His phone remained silent.
Evelyn glanced toward it. “You should go outside.”
“I have reports.”
“The youth-clinic equipment needs to be checked.”
“It was checked Friday.”
“Check it again.”
Aaron narrowed his eyes.
Evelyn turned toward the hallway. “The volleyballs may have multiplied.”
“That is unlikely.”
“Then you should investigate.”
She walked away before he could object.
Aaron turned his phone over again.
His last message waited beneath Meagan’s.
What do you want instead?
Delivered ten minutes ago.
Still no response.
Aaron stood and picked up the equipment clipboard.
He would wait.
He had promised himself he would not chase Meagan into a decision simply because uncertainty hurt. He would not turn his feelings into another responsibility she had to manage.
He could want her without demanding that she resolve his wanting.
Even if wanting her had become impossible to ignore.
The foundation’s equipment shed sat near the public courts, a low blue structure filled with volleyballs, collapsible nets, cones, first-aid supplies, and several years of equipment no one had been willing to discard.
Aaron opened the double doors.
Everything was exactly where it belonged.
Evelyn had invented the task.
Poorly.
He looked toward the foundation office. Sunlight reflected from the upper windows, preventing him from seeing whether she was watching.
Aaron shook his head and entered the shed.
If Evelyn wanted him outside, he could still accomplish something.
He counted the regulation volleyballs first.
Thirty-two total.
Three damaged.
Two missing from the volunteer match.
He wrote the numbers on the clipboard.
Behind him, a car door closed.
Aaron stopped writing.
Several people had parked near the courts. Beach visitors. Joggers. A family unloading folding chairs and a cooler.
There was no reason for his pulse to change.
Then footsteps crossed the pavement.
Measured.
Quick.
Aaron turned.
Meagan stood at the edge of the sand.
For one suspended moment, neither of them moved.
She wore dark jeans, flat sandals, and the sleeveless cream blouse she had worn during the venue walkthrough. Her brown hair moved around her shoulders in the ocean breeze. A purse hung from one arm, and she held a folded piece of paper in her hand.
Aaron recognized the paper.
The rules.
Hope moved through him before he could stop it.
He set down the clipboard.
Meagan walked toward him. She did not look composed. She looked determined. There was a difference.
“You came,” Aaron said.
“You sound surprised.”
“You told me you were leaving.”
“I was wrong.”
His heartbeat moved harder.
“About leaving?”
“About several things.”
She glanced at the open shed. “Are you working?”
“I was sent to investigate imaginary equipment movement.”
Meagan frowned. “That sounds inefficient.”
“Evelyn wanted me outside.”
“She knew I was coming?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then why would she want you outside?”
“She enjoys theories.”
“That is concerning.”
“She has been spending time with Amanda.”
“That is more concerning.”
Aaron smiled.
Meagan did too, but the expression faded quickly.
The beach stretched behind her beneath the afternoon sun. Volleyball players occupied the court farther south. Children ran near the water carrying plastic buckets. The ocean moved steadily beneath the pale sky.
Aaron had imagined seeing Meagan again at the airport, in Hailey’s driveway, or over one final cup of coffee before she returned to New York.
He had not allowed himself to imagine her arriving with the rules in her hand.
“You said you don’t want the arrangement back.”
“I don’t.”
“What do you want instead?”
Meagan looked down at the paper.
“When I created these rules, I thought I was protecting myself.”
“You were.”
“No.”
She unfolded the page.
The paper had been folded several times. Amanda’s red hearts still surrounded the final rule, which remained crossed out beneath the line Meagan had drawn through it.
“I was protecting the version of myself I understood,” she said. “The one who plans everything, fixes everything, and makes herself useful enough that no one regrets asking her to stay.”
Aaron’s chest tightened.
“Meagan—”
“Please let me finish.”
He nodded.
She took a breath.
“I thought fake dating would be safe because it had terms. A beginning. An ending. A purpose.”
Aaron remained quiet.
“And then you remembered my coffee.”
His mouth curved faintly.
“That was not part of the arrangement,” she continued. “Neither were the lemon pancakes, the string lights, the volleyball match, or you noticing every time I disappeared into my own head.”
“You do that.”
“I know.”
Her gaze softened.
“You helped me without making me feel incapable. You stood beside me without taking over. You wanted something from me, but you never made your wanting into another obligation I had to carry.”
Aaron’s fingers curled once at his sides.
“I didn’t know what to do with that.”
“You didn’t have to do anything.”
“That was the problem.”
He frowned slightly.
Meagan lifted her eyes.
“I know how to earn appreciation. I know how to become necessary. I know how to make someone’s life easier until they are grateful I am in it.”
The wind caught one edge of the paper.
“But you wanted me before I did anything for you.”
“Yes, I did.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Her breath caught.
Aaron took one step closer, then stopped.
She had asked him to let her finish.
He would.
“I didn’t trust it,” she said. “Not because you gave me a reason not to. Because I did not know how to believe I could be chosen without proving my value first.”
“You never had to prove anything to me.”
“I know that now.”
The certainty in her voice struck him harder than he expected.
Meagan looked down at the rules.
“I nearly went back to New York because it was the easiest way to avoid admitting what I wanted.”
Aaron’s chest tightened.
“What do you want?”
She folded the paper once.
Then tore it down the middle.
Aaron stared.
She placed the halves together and tore them again.
The six rules became four uneven pieces in her hands.
“No more arrangement,” she said.
Hope tightened in his chest.
“No more pretending. No former boyfriend, fundraiser, practice session, or socially necessary kiss.”
Aaron looked at the torn paper.
Then at her.
“What does that leave?”
“Me.”
The word came quietly.
Strong enough to carry across the space between them.
“Not the version who knows every answer,” she continued. “Not the woman who has decided where she will live, what her job will look like, or how a relationship across two coasts is supposed to work.”
A small, nervous laugh escaped her.
“I don’t have a plan.”
“I noticed.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“That was not the correct response.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You do not look sorry.”
“I’m extremely proud of you.”
The irritation disappeared from her face and something vulnerable replaced it.
“I emailed my supervisor.”
“You told me.”
“I asked for a West Coast arrangement. Or a remote position.”
“I know.”
“She has not answered.”
“Okay.”
“I continue to find that word frustrating.”
“I know that too.”
Meagan looked toward the water.
“I may have to return to New York for a while.”
“All right.”
“I may be able to work remotely.”
“That would be good.”
“I may decide the company no longer fits what I want.”
“Also good.”
She turned back.
“You are being very agreeable.”
“I’m trying not to turn your uncertainty into my emergency.”
Her expression softened.
“That is an alarmingly healthy sentence.”
“I’ve had a productive twenty-four hours.”
A smile touched her mouth.
Aaron wanted to cross the remaining distance.
He wanted his hands at her waist and her face beneath his palms. He wanted to kiss her with no rules, witnesses, or uncertainty about why it was happening.
He stayed where he was.
Meagan noticed.
Her gaze moved briefly to his hands.
“You said you could stop showing me what you wanted.”
“I can.”
“I don’t want you to.”
The words went through him cleanly.