Page 52 of The Sweetest Return

Her eyes lowered to my suit, then came back to mine. “You look good, Andre.”

The way she said it did more than the words. Soft. Unwilling. Like she wished it were less true.

“Thank you.”

“No joke?”

“No.”

A faint smile touched her mouth. “Growth.”

“A little.”

“Don’t overdo it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

That made her smile for real, but it faded before either of us could get too comfortable.

“You staying all weekend?” I asked.

“Yes. At The Nocturne.”

My chest tightened. “In the hotel?”

“That is usually how staying at a hotel works.”

The edge of humor helped, but not enough to pull us out of the heat we were standing in.

“The gala is there Friday,” she said. “The game is Saturday. It made sense.”

She would be at The Nocturne.

All weekend.

And so would I.

“That does make sense,” I said.

Her gaze sharpened like she heard every thought I kept behind my teeth.

The room stayed crowded around us, but without Camille at her side and without my boys close enough to save me from myself, it felt easier to forget we were not alone.

“So,” she said, taking a small sip from her glass. “You’re being honored tomorrow.”

“That’s what they keep telling me.”

“You don’t sound excited.”

“I’m grateful.”

“That is not the same thing.”

No, it wasn’t.

I looked past her for a second, toward the banners hanging near the far wall. Purple and gold. My name printed beneath words like legacy and excellence like that kind of thing did not still sit strangely on a man who remembered being nineteen and scared beneath all the confidence.

“I came back every year for this part of Homecoming,” I said. “The donor rooms. The awards. The handshakes.”