“Before we dive into our regular agenda,” Carol continues, practically glowing with excitement, “I want to introduce a wonderful new volunteer who’s generously offered to handle all our legal permits and compliance issues this year. He recently relocated back to Bellrose and is already making such valuable contributions to our community!”
My pen freezes mid-stroke. Ice water floods my veins. No. No way. It can’t be.
“Please give a warm welcome to Zayn Blackwell from Hargrove & Associates!”
The pen slips from my fingers and clatters loudly against the linoleum. I make a strangled sound, but it’s drowned out byenthusiastic applause. My body flashes hot, then cold, then hot again.
Seriously? SERIOUSLY?! First the clinic, then dinner at The Pearl, and now this? The universe must be actively conspiring against me. I’m trapped in one of those romance novels where the heroine keeps accidentally running into her ex-boyfriend at every single event until they’re forced back together.
The back door swings open and in he walks. Zayn looks unfairly good in dark jeans and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing those tattooed arms. He smiles and nods graciously to the room, acting like this is completely normal, like he didn’t just invade my sanctuary.
Carol keeps gushing. “Zayn has kindly agreed to provide all his services pro bono. With the festival expanding every year, having professional legal counsel is just invaluable!”
I sink lower in my chair, wishing I could physically disappear beneath it. Of course he’s offering free legal services. Of course he’s playing the role of generous community hero. Of course everyone’s looking at him like he hung the moon while I’m sitting here feeling like my heart might explode through my ribcage.
His gaze sweeps the room until it lands on me. Immediately, everything else blurs into background noise. It’s that same look from that night at The Pearl—like I’m the only person he can see. I force myself to stare down at my notebook, but I can still feel his eyes on me, a physical weight against my skin.
“And now for committee assignments!” Carol chirps, oblivious to my internal meltdown. She shuffles through her papers. “We’ll maintain most team configurations from last year, with a few adjustments.”
I take a steadying breath. It’s fine. It’s a massive festival. Dozens of committees. Tons of volunteers. Zayn will probably handle permits independently, far away from my vendor area.
“Sophie Whitmore,” Carol calls, and my head snaps up. “You’ll be heading the pet adoption booth again, with some exciting expansions this year! We’re doubling the space and adding a mobile microchipping station.”
I nod, trying to appear composed while my fingers anxiously worry the edge of my notebook. At least this is familiar territory. The pet adoption booth has been my domain for three years running.
“And since this expanded booth requires significantly more permitting and documentation, I’m pairing you with our new legal volunteer.” Carol beams at Zayn, then at me. “Zayn, you’ll be working directly with Sophie on the pet adoption booth!”
The room continues moving around me, people keep talking, but I’ve gone completely still. My face burns so hot I’m surprised my hair doesn’t combust. Why did she have to pair us together out of literally everyone here?
I force a smile that makes my cheeks ache. I can’t object without explaining why to the entire committee, and I’m absolutely not airing our history in front of Mrs. Peterson and the flower shop group.
“You two will make an excellent team!” Carol announces cheerfully, and someone actually laughs. They have no idea.
The meeting drags on forever. I nod and scribble notes I won’t be able to decipher later, and try desperately to ignore the fact that Zayn is sitting three rows behind me. I swear I can feel his presence like heat against my back.
When Carol finally ends the meeting, I shove everything into my bag so frantically I tear a page in my notebook. I need to escape before?—
“Sophie.”
Too late. His voice stops me cold, the same voice that promised me “you’ll be okay” at his office. I turn slowly, clutching my binder like a shield.
Zayn stands there, hands casually in his pockets, looking completely calm while I’m internally combusting. “Looks like we’re partners,” he says.
I straighten my spine and lift my chin. Stay professional. You can handle this. “I’ll email you last year’s vendor contacts,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “The pet booth is pretty simple.”
He nods, studying me carefully. “I enjoyed dinner with you,” he says, lowering his voice. “I think we work well together.”
My stomach flips as memories flash—sharing crème brûlée, that charged moment under the harbor lights. “That was strictly about saving the clinic,” I say firmly. “This is different.”
“Is it?” His eyes don’t leave mine.
“I need to go,” I say, dodging his question entirely. “Emergency at the clinic.” Complete lie. But I can’t stand here pretending we’re just professional colleagues when my pulse is racing so wildly I’m certain he can hear it.
I push through the doors into bright sunshine. My legs feel unsteady as I hurry toward my car, keys jangling in my hands.
Bellrose feels smaller every single day. Every corner I turn, every event I attend, every committee I volunteer for—he’s there. And what’s worse? Part of me, the part I absolutely cannot trust, is starting to anticipate seeing him. Maybe even hope for it.
I am in so much trouble.
