I hold up a hand. “Don’t do the whole ‘you haven’t changed’ thing. We’re not doing that.”
“Fair enough.” He shifts positions, drawing one knee up and resting his forearm on it. The movement brings him slightly closer.
I can smell him again. That cologne mixed with salt...
I should move away.
I don’t move away.
“Foundation work,” he says after a long pause. “There’s a project here. Legal access clinic for the locals. I’m considering funding it long-term.”
“That’s very philanthropic of you.” I comment wryly.
“Is it?” He looks at me. “Or is it damage control?”
The honesty catches me off guard. I wasn’t expecting that. Deflection, yes. Corporate speak, absolutely.
But actual vulnerability?
Not from Corin Saelinger.
“What kind of damage?” I ask carefully.
“The kind I can’t fix yet.” He looks out at the water. “The kind that makes you question whether you should even try.”
Against every instinct screaming at me to maintain professional distance, to protect myself, to remember why I left in the first place, I find myself asking, “What happened?”
He shakes his head. “Long, complicated story. It’s probably not something I should tell you while sitting on a beach after midnight.”
“Why not?” I press.
“Because you’ll think less of me than you already do,” he states coldly.
“I don’t think less of you,” I hear myself say.
Liar.
He glances at me. “Oh yes, you do. And you should.”
I want to argue. To tell him he’s wrong. But we both know he’s not.
“Your turn, now,” he continues. “Why areyoureally here, Amara?”
I could deflect. Give him the same half-truths he gave me.
But something about the way he just handed me a piece of his truth makes me want to match it.
Quid pro quo, counselor.
“I’m running,” I admit. “From Jess’s party. From Marco trying to set me up with every single friend he has. From everyone asking why I’m still alone like it’s some kind of personal failing.”
“The Amara I know has always been a success,” he comments quietly.
“Yeah, well, tell that to my mother. Or Jess. Or literally anyone who thinks being twenty-eight and single is a tragedy that requires immediate intervention.”
“For what it’s worth,” he says softly. “I think you’re exactly where you should be.”
“Yeah?” I say sweetly. “And where’s that exactly?”
