I roll my eyes but can’t suppress a small smile. “Obviously.”
But as I accept the dress, I know what we’re both actually thinking—tomorrow night isn’t just about the clinic. It’s about Zayn and me, standing together under everyone’s scrutiny. And despite my constant denials, part of me wants him to see me in this dress and remember exactly what he walked away from five years ago.
I run my thumb across the silky fabric, imagining the expression on his face when he sees it.
“Fine,” I concede. “I’ll try it on. For the fundraiser. For the clinic.”
Harper’s smile widens victoriously. “Absolutely. For the clinic.”
The dress slides from its hanger into my hands, green like sunlight filtering through forest leaves, matching my eyes perfectly.
CHAPTER 12
One Dance
My hands won’t stop trembling as Harper pulls up to Town Square. My emerald dress keeps snagging on my fingernails as I fidget with the hem. Through the car window, I can see the string lights glowing against the darkening sky. The entire square looks enchanted, like something from a movie where the protagonist makes a grand entrance and everyone stops to stare. I genuinely hope that doesn’t happen to me.
“Stop picking at your dress,” Sara says from the back seat, reaching forward to squeeze my shoulder. “You look stunning.”
Harper cuts the engine and turns to face me. “If he doesn’t physically stop breathing when he sees you, something’s wrong with his vision.”
“This isn’t about him,” I say, but even I can hear how unconvincing I sound. “It’s about saving the clinic.”
“Right,” Harper deadpans, rolling her eyes. “That’s why you agonized over four different pairs of earrings.”
I can’t argue because she’s absolutely correct. So I simply step out into the cool evening air. It smells like fresh-cut grass and night-blooming jasmine—probably the new plantings they added near the gazebo last week. Music drifts from somewherenearby, acoustic guitar and piano creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere.
Harper’s eyes widen as we approach. “Holy shit. This place looks incredible.”
She’s not wrong. Town Square has been completely transformed. String lights crisscross overhead, bathing everything in warm golden light. Auction tables line the perimeter, each adorned with flickering candles in mason jars. Near the gazebo, a dance floor reflects the glow where the band is doing sound check. Paper lanterns sway gently in the trees, casting dancing shadows. It’s exactly how I imagined when Zayn and I planned every detail. That realization unsettles me slightly. How did he know exactly what I wanted?
We’ve barely entered when Dr. Martinez rushes over. She’s wearing an elegant navy dress I’ve never seen, and it takes years off her appearance.
“Mija!” She pulls me into a tight embrace, and I catch the scent of her perfume. “It’s perfect! We’ve already collected eight thousand dollars from early bids!”
My pulse races. Eight thousand. This might actually work.
“Did you see the auction display?” I start. “We organized everything by category?—”
But my words die completely when I spot him across the square, deep in conversation with the mayor. He looks devastatingly handsome in a dark gray suit that makes his blue-gray eyes even more striking. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, exposing the intricate tattoos winding up his forearms. My stomach plummets like I’m cresting the peak of a roller coaster.
He laughs at something the mayor says, head tilting back, revealing the edge of his neck tattoo above his collar. Unfair. He looks even better than before, while I feel like I can barely breathe properly in this dress.
“Found him pretty quickly,” Sara murmurs beside me.
I jerk my gaze away, heat flooding my cheeks. “I wasn’t looking for him.”
“Sure you weren’t,” she says, transparently disbelieving.
Harper returns with beverages—just water for me since I’m technically working—and follows my previous line of sight. “He cleans up well,” she admits. “Still don’t trust him though.”
I accept the glass gratefully, needing something to occupy my hands. “He’s contributed significantly to making this happen,” I say, attempting nonchalance. Like I’m not acutely aware of his every movement across the square.
“Maybe,” Harper says, her protective instincts flaring. “But helping now doesn’t erase what he did before.”
She’s right. I don’t argue. I sip my water and scan the growing crowd. It’s only seven-thirty and the place is already packed. I recognize most faces but there are unfamiliar well-dressed strangers too. Probably connections from Zayn’s law firm.
Sara grabs my arm suddenly. “Oh my god,” she whispers urgently. “Isn’t that the luxury hotel developer from the coast?”
