"That's wonderful," I said, my smile starting to ache.
"Do you have kids?" Lisa asked, finally looking up from her phone.
The question cut deep, but I knew this could happen. I kept my expression pleasant through sheer force of will.
"No, not yet. Just focusing on my career right now."
"Oh." Lisa's face did that thing people's faces do when they're trying to look sympathetic but actually feel superior. "Well, there's still time! You're what, thirty-four? Thirty-five?"
"Thirty-five."
"See? Plenty of time!" She patted my arm in a way that made me want to scream. "My sister didn't have her first until she was thirty-seven. Of course, it was a difficult pregnancy, and there were complications, but?—"
"Lisa, I think I see someone I need to say hi to," I interrupted, already backing away. "So great catching up!"
I fled toward Beth, who was waiting by the bleachers with a knowing expression.
"How many kids does Lisa have now?" she asked.
"Three. All gifted. All extensively photographed."
"Naturally." Beth handed me her untouched cup of punch. "You need this more than I do. I saw your face during the 'do you have kids' question."
"Was it that obvious?"
"Only to someone who knows you." She clinked an empty cup against mine. "You're doing great. Only two more hours of this, tops."
"Two hours?" I groaned. "I'm not going to survive two hours."
"You absolutely are. And you know why?"
"Why?"
Beth's eyes drifted to something over my shoulder, and her expression shifted into something I couldn't quite read. "Because I think the evening just got a lot more interesting."
"What do you?—"
"Don't turn around yet," she said quickly. "But Miles Cameron is standing by the punch table, and he's been staring at you for approximately thirty seconds."
My heart stopped. Actually, genuinely stopped, then restarted at roughly triple its normal speed.
"What?" I breathed.
"Punch table. Navy shirt. Looking at you like you're the only person in this room." Beth's lips curved. "And for the record, he's alone. No ring. No plus-one hovering nearby."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've been watching him for the last minute while you were processing Lisa's fertility advice." She gave me a gentle push. "Turn around, Char."
I turned around.
And there he was.
Miles Cameron, standing against the wall near the refreshments table like he was trying to merge with the cinderblocks and disappear. Fifteen years older than the boy I'd loved, but unmistakably, impossibly him.
His face was sharper now, the softness of youth carved away into something more defined, more interesting. His dark hair was shorter than I remembered, neatly styled, but I could see silver threading through it at the temples even from across the room.
He wore a simple navy button-down and dark jeans, and he looked profoundly, utterly out of place—his posture stiff, his arms crossed over his chest, his whole body radiating a quiet discomfort that made my heart ache.
