He pulled out the chair beside mine instead of taking one across the table, the scrape of it against the floor loud in the quiet room before he sat. The nearness of him was immediately distracting — his shoulder close enough that I was suddenly aware of where my arms were, how I was sitting, how fast my heart was beating.
It helped, having something to do with my hands. I handed over sheet after sheet as I discussed how the program had been working up until now, what needed attention, and the ideas Grace, Maven, and I had briefly discussed. Shane nodded as he listened, following along with the attention of a coach going into a playoff game rather than one simply helping with a community initiative.
It was at least twenty minutes before I took my first sip of the smoothie Shane had brought, and when I did, I hummed, smiling. “Wow.”
“Good?”
“Not bad,” I said. “But also, I just… it’s been a long time since I’ve had a smoothie.”
Shane smirked, his eyes catching mine like he wanted to ask something but thought better of it. “Nothing compared to The Smoothie Guy, but it’s a close enough fix. Sometime, I’ll have to take you to the smoothie spot in Ybor. That’s the one that might put our Boston go-to to shame.”
That had my smile faltering a little, the way he was talking as if we were friends now. As if me suddenly ending up in the same city as him was going to erase years of pain.
“Anyway, I’m happy you’re going to help with the players,” I said, surprised by the coldness in my voice. But I leaned into it. “Do you have any idea which ones would be on board to do some of these events on top of their schedule?”
Shane was still looking at me in that strange way, like he wanted to say something but wouldn’t allow himself to. “I have a few ideas. Jaxson Brittain for one. He had a strained relationship with his parents, and I think he’d be interested in helping out. Plus, it would make Grace happy, and he’d do anything for that.”
I smiled.
“Then there’s Daddy P. This is his last season.” Shane cracked his neck at that with a sigh. “And I think he’d like to give back before he goes.”
“Great. We can mark them down. Now, do you think the gala is a possibility? I mean, timewise?”
“It will be tough, but I think if we put our minds to it, yes.”
“Do you have any idea where we could host it?”
“I’ll talk to the PR team. I bet they have some ideas.”
“And what about food. Do we have—”
“Ari, I’m sorry.”
The words struck me like a lightning bolt to the chest.
My hands froze where I was jotting down notes, my eyes zeroed in on the ink on the page so I didn’t have to look at Shane. I couldn’t. Not with those words hanging between us. They’d shot out of his mouth quickly and breathlessly, like he’d been holding them back this entire meeting and couldn’t fight them any longer.
“I realize I’ve said these words to you before, and I also realize they don’t mean a thing after…” he continued quietly, hisvoice low and controlled, like he was holding it together by sheer force of will. “But I am. For whatever it’s worth.”
I didn’t look at him, but I felt everything behind what he’d said — the restraint, the careful steadiness, the emotion he was keeping tightly leashed.
The apology itself was simple. The truth beneath it was not.
My heart was thundering in my chest, the temptation to look at him nearly eating me alive. But I knew if I did, I’d crash all the way out.
“I don’t think we should talk about this.”
“Why not?”
“It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter now.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“I’m married.” I finally snapped my gaze to him with those words, and the way his jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring, I knew I’d hit my intended mark. “What happened between me and a college boyfriend twenty years ago is of no consequence. Okay? So let’s just drop it and move on.”
Lie.
Big, fat lie.
