She deflected with a smile. Despite having bared her soul to Nick, her mission to recover her job felt fiercely personal, not like fodder for casual conversation. “Yeah, I’ve been working on a... ah, project. But to be honest, I should probably get out of the house more. I’m getting pretty tired of staring at my screen all day.”
The waiter delivered a carafe. Gallant poured and pushed a glass across the table. “Sounds like you need a hobby. How’d you spend your time in New York?”
A rueful sigh escaped. For the past year, she’d devoted herself to her side project. Its mathematics had filled her lungs. Powered every beat of her blood. God, how she missed that, the depth of it. The way she could lose herself transcribing numerical elegance into code. “Working, mostly. And Pilates. Then more work.”
He nodded along. “You know, I admire that. Seems like hardly anyone’s actually trying to get ahead, these days.”
Her tongue twined around a denial. “It wasn’t because I was angling for a promotion, or anything. It was more like I needed something to be consumed by. If that makes sense.” That, and she’d wanted to win the Innovation Cup. The badge of honor would’ve lent credence to her life’s work.
“Sure,” Gallant said. “You like to stay busy.”
She pressed her lips together. “Yeah. Something like that.”
He scanned the menu. “I respect that. And hey, Henderson might not have much going for it, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to do here. Maybe you could volunteer.”
“Volunteer?” A spark fired in her belly. Now,therewas an idea. “For what?”
“Harvest Days, maybe? The parade’s not ’til November, but it seems like half the town comes out to help build the floats.”
That inner spark flared to a full-blown glow. Getting out of the house and away from that memory-laden fireplace would help clear her head. “That sounds great, actually. Who would I talk to about that?”
“Megan Shimamoto, probably. She chairs the volunteer committee.”
“Megan Shimamoto?” Aubrey searched her memory and came up empty.
“Sorry,” he said. “Tomlinson was her maiden name. Weren’t you two besties, back in the day?”
Aubrey straightened. Megan Tomlinsonhadbeen her bestie, and the closest thing she’d had to a sister—not only a fellow cheerleader, but captain of the squad. It came as no surprise that pert, outgoing Megan now chaired a volunteer committee.
“Wow,” Aubrey breathed. “I’d love to see her again. Do you have her number, by chance?”
“No.” Gallant’s tone took on an edge. Before she could divine its source, he moved on. “You could probably find her online, though. Anyway, do you know what you want?”
Aubrey shifted her attention to the menu. Once they’d ordered, the conversation turned to the past seventeen years.
Gallant spent the bulk of the evening talking up his accomplishments. He’d gone to college in Indianapolis, then returned to Henderson for his real estate license. Now he owned various properties around town, most of which he leased to businesses. He’d also renovated a run-down apartment complex into upscale condos for the mill foremen and their families.
As he talked, Aubrey’s earlier interest faded. She savored her sea scallops, but her responses turned mechanical.
As she’d suspected, Gallant was uncomplicated. He aspired to wealth and not much more, and while she didn’t begrudge him that, his life could be described with simple arithmetic.
Meanwhile, someone like Nick required advanced regression analysis and still left her feeling like she’d overlooked a hundred data points or two. She could probably spend a lifetime trying to solve the equations that made that man tick and never puzzle through them all.
Catching herself, she set her glass down with enough force to chip it. God, shehadto stop thinking this way.
“Sorry,” she said, aiming the word like a dart into Gallant’s latest stream of braggadocio. “Look, it’s been great to catch up, but I should probably go. Early morning, and all.”
His smile dimmed. “Oh. Okay. You don’t want dessert?”
“No. This has been nice, but the truth is, Gallant, I—”
“Hey.” Concern crossed his brow. “No buts, okay? At least not until I give you your letter.”
She swallowed her impatience and nodded. She almost couldn’t bear to read whatever he’d written, because she couldn’t stand to compare. Which she would, of course. She already had. “Okay.”
He flashed a strained smile, paid the check without fanfare, and trailed her to the door.
At the entrance, she stepped aside for an incoming couple, her heels clicking on the ocean-patterned tile. The man and woman had nearly brushed past when Aubrey registered a familiar black pixie cut and sparkling blue eyes.
