2.THE PAST AT MY DOOR

ARDEN

I didn’t sleep.

I told myself I was too busy to dwell on Rhett’s unexpected reappearance—that my mind was spinning from a packed schedule, upcoming weddings to coordinate, endless emails to answer. But if that were true, I wouldn’t have found myself at two in the morning, sitting cross-legged on my couch, nursing a mug of chamomile tea that had gone cold twenty minutes ago, staring at the rain streaking down the window.

The city outside was muffled. Streetlights bled into puddles, and the hum of late-night traffic was nothing more than a distant pulse. My reflection in the glass looked pale, shadowed. I hated that I recognized the expression—like I was bracing for a storm that had already begun.

Rhett Maddox, back in my life.

Even the thought of his name sent a ripple through me, part fury, part something dangerously close to longing. I hadn’t felt that combination in years. I’d worked too hard to bury it.

By morning, I was all business again. That was the only way to survive a day when the past was nipping at your heels—bury yourself in the present. My assistant, Lila, greeted me at the studio with her usual too-bright smile and a latte the size of my head.

“You look… tired,” she said carefully, as if “tired” was code for something else.

“I’m fine,” I said, taking the latte. “We have the Hargraves’ final walkthrough today, right?”

Lila nodded, scanning her tablet. “And a new inquiry came in late last night for a corporate fundraiser. The client’s name—”

“Don’t,” I said quickly. Too quickly.

Her brows knit. “You already know?”

“Yeah.” I took a long sip of my coffee. The caffeine didn’t help. “I know.”

She hesitated like she wanted to press, but I gave her my best don’t-push-me look and walked into my office. The air inside was still faintly scented with eucalyptus from the diffuser I kept running. Normally, it was calming. Today, it barely cut through the tension wound tight between my ribs.

I opened my laptop, telling myself to focus on contracts. Instead, my inbox taunted me with a new message.

From: Rhett Calloway

Subject: Fundraiser Proposal

I clicked it before I could stop myself.

***********************************

Arden,

I meant what I said last night. This isn’t about the past—it’s about the program. I’ve attached an outline for the event. I’d like to meet tomorrow to go over details. Coffee? Or we can keep it here at your studio, if that’s easier.

– R

P.S. I’ll try not to drip on your floors this time.

************************************

The nerve of him.

The absolute, infuriating audacity to waltz back into my life and make jokes. I should’ve deleted the email on sight. I even hovered over the trash icon, ready to erase it and the thread of temptation it carried. But my eyes snagged on the event outline he’d attached.

I skimmed it.

And damn it, it was good.

Detailed. Thoughtful. Every line was practical and well-planned, the kind of work I would’ve been proud to hand to a client myself. Worse, it was exactly the kind of fundraiser I would want to take on—something with purpose. Something that mattered.

I sat back in my chair, staring at the screen like it might give me answers. All it did was reflect the obvious: saying yes would mean letting Rhett back in. And that was dangerous. I’d learned the hard way that letting him in meant eventually watching him walk away.

By mid-afternoon, I’d thrown myself into the Hargrave walkthrough, determined to keep my mind elsewhere. The venue was a converted greenhouse—lush, romantic, dripping with greenery under strings of warm fairy lights. I lost myself in the details: place settings, seating charts, the gentle glow of candles against the glass walls. My world was built on details. If I focused hard enough, maybe I could forget the big picture—the one where Rhett’s shadow lingered at the edges.

But the universe, apparently, had other plans.

When I returned to the studio just after six, the last of the daylight fading behind the skyline, he was there.

Sitting on the edge of my reception desk.

Like he owned it.

“Lila let me in,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, she’s already left. Said something about not wanting to be caught between us.”

“She’s smart,” I muttered, stepping past him to set down my portfolio. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving us both an email chain.” He slid off the desk, closing the distance between us in two easy strides. “I figured it’d be easier to talk in person.”

I crossed my arms. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Really?” His voice was soft now, but there was an edge to it. “Because I think there’s a lot.”

“About the fundraiser?” I asked, my tone dripping with skepticism.

“About that. And maybe a little about why you look like you haven’t slept.”

I hated that he noticed. Hated it even more that his eyes softened, just slightly, as he studied me. “Don’t,” I warned.

“Don’t what?”He said.

“Don’t look at me like you remember how I take my coffee, or that you know what keeps me up at night. You lost that right a long time ago.” I snapped.

Something flickered in his gaze. Regret, maybe. “I’m not here to hurt you, Arden.” Rhett said gently

“Good,” I said tightly. “Because you don’t get another chance.”

The silence that followed stretched, heavy but not empty. It was filled with everything we weren’t saying, the air thick enough to choke on.

Finally, he exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Just… read the proposal. If you say no after that, I’ll leave you alone.”

I should have refused on principle. But something in his voice—steady, almost pleading—made me hesitate.

“Fine,” I said. “One condition. We keep it strictly professional. No walking down memory lane. No—”

“—dripping water on your floors,” he finished, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

I rolled my eyes, but my lips betrayed me with the faintest twitch. “You get one meeting. That’s it.”

His smile widened, slow and sure. “One’s all I need.”

After he left, I locked the door and leaned against it, staring into the dim studio. The air felt charged, like the room had been holding its breath the whole time he was here.

One meeting, I told myself. Just one.

Tho to be honest, I already knew it wouldn’t end there.