Chapter Ten #2
Aaron forgot the equipment clipboard, the missing volleyballs, and every promise he had made himself about remaining patient until he knew exactly what she wanted.
“What are you asking me for?”
Meagan lifted her chin.
“You.”
His breath caught.
She stepped closer.
“I don’t want you to be my fake date.”
“I don’t want that either.”
“I want mornings when no one needs help.”
“I want those too.”
“I want coffee without a crisis.”
“Even better.”
“I want to play volleyball with you again, though not against anyone wearing league-approved knee pads.”
“That can be arranged.”
“I want you to call me because you want to hear my voice, not because Tyler assigned you to make sure I eat.”
“I can do that.”
“And I want to call you when I have nothing useful to say.”
Aaron took a breath.
“That may be my favorite part.”
Her eyes shone.
“I want to find out what this is when we are not pretending.”
“It’s real.”
The words left him before he could soften them.
Meagan went still.
“It was real for me before the gala,” he continued. “Before the kiss. Before you entered my name on the invitation.”
“I know.”
“It can be slow.”
She nodded.
“It can be inconvenient.”
“That seems likely.”
“You can live in New York for a while.”
“I may have to.”
“I’ll visit.”
“I have airline points.”
“Of course you do.”
“I use a spreadsheet.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
Her smile appeared fully.
The sight tightened Aaron’s chest.
He had wanted her laughter the first night he saw her at the tournament.
Now he wanted every version of her.
The prepared one.
The tired one.
The woman who organized storage rooms and the woman who had no plan at all.
“I’m not asking you to promise me California,” he said.
“I know.”
“I’m not asking you to choose a career based on where I live.”
“I know that too.”
“I’m asking you to let me be part of the choices.”
Her eyes burned before she blinked.
“I want that.”
Aaron moved closer.
One step.
Enough that the breeze lifted her hair against his shirt.
“Meagan.”
“Yes?”
“I need you to be very clear.”
She frowned. “I have been unusually clear.”
“You have.”
“Then what remains confusing?”
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth.
Her breathing changed.
“I’ve spent a week deciding whether touching you was necessary.”
Warmth moved into her face.
“That system lacked precision.”
“It was terrible.”
“I created it.”
“You were under stress.”
Her eyes narrowed again.
Aaron smiled.
“I need to know whether I can kiss you.”
Meagan looked at him. There was no Daniel. No audience. No arrangement to support.
Only the open doors of the equipment shed, the distant sound of volleyballs striking forearms, and the ocean breathing against the shore.
Her gaze moved slowly over his face.
“You once told me you remember things.”
“I do.”
“Remember that I came here because I wanted you.”
His chest tightened.
“I will.”
“Remember that I am choosing this without knowing exactly what happens next.”
“I will.”
“And remember that this kiss is not for show.”
Aaron lifted one hand to her face.
Meagan leaned into his palm.
The movement was small.
Trusting.
Enough to make every difficult moment of waiting worth it.
“I’ll remember.”
Then he kissed her.
The first kiss had been careful because she needed a story.
The second had been careful because she feared the truth.
This kiss required no explanation.
Aaron’s mouth met hers beneath the California sun.
Warm.
Certain.
Real.
Meagan caught the front of his shirt in both hands and pulled him closer.
The answer in the movement went through him.
He slid one arm around her waist, holding her against him as the kiss deepened.
There was no audience to convince.
No rule limiting how long it could last or how much he was allowed to mean it.
Meagan rose onto her toes.
Aaron’s hand moved from her cheek into her hair.
The kiss softened.
Their mouths parted, then met once more.
Gentler.
A promise rather than a question.
When Aaron finally lifted his head, Meagan kept her eyes closed for one additional second.
He smiled.
“Happy,” he said.
Her eyes opened.
“That is becoming repetitive.”
“Still counts.”
She looked at him.
Then laughed.
The sound came freely.
The way it had during the volleyball match.
Aaron rested his forehead against hers.
For one quiet moment, the future did not require an answer.
A voice called from near the courts.
“I would like it documented that we waited until after the declaration.”
Meagan closed her eyes.
Aaron looked over her shoulder.
Amanda stood twenty feet away holding her phone. Hailey stood beside her, one hand pressed against Amanda’s wrist. Jack and Tyler followed several steps behind them carrying two volleyballs and a cooler.
Meagan turned within Aaron’s arms.
“How long have you been standing there?”
Amanda considered the question.
“Define standing.”
“Amanda.”
“We were walking for part of it.”
Hailey gave Meagan an apologetic smile.
“We came to return the missing volleyballs.”
Aaron looked at Tyler.
“You planned this?”
Tyler placed the balls beside the shed.
“No.”
Jack set down the cooler.
“Absolutely.”
Tyler looked at him.
Jack lifted one shoulder. “Amanda made me.”
“I presented an opportunity,” Amanda corrected.
“You threatened to drive here without us.”
“I am capable of driving.”
“That was the concern.”
Meagan stepped away from Aaron.
Only far enough to establish that she still possessed independent mobility.
Aaron caught her hand before she moved farther.
His fingers threaded through hers.
No practice.
No performance.
Meagan looked down at their joined hands.
Then at him.
Aaron waited.
She could release him.
Instead, her fingers closed around his.
Amanda made an emotional sound loud enough to disturb a nearby seagull.
Meagan pointed at her with her free hand.
“You are not permitted to post anything.”
Amanda lowered the phone.
“I did not take a picture.”
Jack looked at the screen.
“She took nine.”
“One was blurry.”
“Amanda.”
“I will submit them for private review.”
“No.”
Hailey stepped closer.
“You’re staying?”
The question held more care than curiosity.
Meagan looked toward the water.
“I don’t know exactly.”
Hailey nodded.
No disappointment.
Only support.
“But I am not getting on the flight tonight.”
Hailey’s eyes widened.
Amanda moved forward.
“You canceled it?”
“Yes.”
“You are moving here.”
“I did not say that.”
“You canceled a flight.”
“I have done that before.”
“Exactly. The pattern has been established.”
“It is not a pattern.”
Aaron leaned closer. “It may be becoming one.”
Meagan looked at him.
“You should not encourage her.”
“I’m supporting the available data.”
“That phrase belongs to me.”
“I remember things.”
Her mouth betrayed her with a smile.
Tyler picked up one volleyball.
“Either way, we need another player.”
Meagan looked toward the courts.
Two temporary nets remained from the weekend activities. The sand was bright beneath the sun. Beyond them, the ocean stretched wide and uncertain toward the horizon.
She might still return to New York.
For a month.
For meetings.
Long enough to change a job, pack an apartment, or discover that the next stage of her life required more patience than she preferred.
Nothing was settled.
For once, that did not feel like a reason to postpone happiness.
“I’ll play,” she said.
Aaron’s hand tightened gently around hers.
“With me?” he asked.
Meagan looked at the man who had seen her before she understood how badly she wanted to be seen.
Who had chosen her without asking her to earn the place beside him.
Who had waited until she was ready to choose herself.
“Yes.”
One word.
His expression softened.
Meagan carried the torn pieces of paper to the recycling bin beside the shed and dropped them inside.
The rules disappeared beneath an empty water bottle and a folded foundation flyer.
No ceremony.
No second thoughts.
When she returned, Aaron held out his hand.
Not because she needed help crossing the sand.
Not because anyone was watching.
Because he wanted to hold it.
Meagan placed her hand in his.
Together, they walked toward the court.
Amanda was already arguing over teams.
Jack objected to whatever she had proposed.
Hailey laughed while Tyler attempted to establish rules no one intended to follow.
Meagan stepped onto the sand beside Aaron.
The future remained unplanned.
Her career remained uncertain.
New York still existed.
So did California.
So did the man whose hand fit around hers as though neither of them had ever needed rules.
Aaron tossed her the volleyball.
Meagan caught it.
“Ready, partner?”
She looked across the net at the people waiting for them.
Then back at him.
No pretending. No apology. No plan required.
“Ready.”
She moved to the service line.
Aaron took his place beside her.
Meagan tossed the ball into the air and struck it cleanly.
The serve sailed across the net beneath the bright California sun.
Aaron laughed as Amanda lunged too late.
Meagan smiled.
And together, they played the next point.
The End