3.COLLISIONS AND CONFESSIONS

ARDEN

The day of the fundraiser walk-through arrived like a tidal wave—unstoppable, inevitable. The morning light filtered through the windows of Crimson with a soft gold glow that almost felt ironic, considering the electric tension charging the air between Rhett and me.

We arrived together. Not by design—just practical. He drove, and the lines on his forehead softened every time I glanced at his profile, but I kept my eyes fixed on the city's skyline. The river below shimmered like rivulets of light, and the world beyond those walls felt infinite and reckless—the opposite of me.

Inside, Crimson’s foyer was empty except for us, and the silence swallowed me whole. I’d seen this place a thousand times through rose-tinted glasses in my plans and sketches, but walking in now—beside Rhett—made it feel raw and vulnerable.

He cleared his throat. “So you still like the shape of the space?”

I glanced at him, arching an eyebrow. “Still?

“Still,” he repeated, softening. “You can’t unsee it.”

I fought the catch in my throat and forced myself to study the ceiling. Edison bulbs hung from black cables like constellations formed to my design. The air smelled woodsy—old beams, polished floors—and that subtle scent of citrus cleaner. "You didn’t sell out your vision," I said. My voice was steadier than I felt. "I thought you might have."

A flicker of something—admiration? regret?—crossed his face. Before I could say more, he was walking around, pulling together logistics—spotlight placements, cocktail station locations, acoustic band setup. My breath caught in my throat. Part of me hated that he still thought like me. A larger, more dangerous part of me missed it.

I cleared my throat. "We should start with the stage area."

He nodded, pulling out his tablet. "Stage there, with tall florals at corners to soften angles." He touched one design, then another. "Entertainers here. Bar here."

I leaned closer. “If you move the bar against that wall, it opens up more room for mingling.”

He looked up. That moment—eyes wide, chest shifting—felt like the space between us swayed. I realized with cold clarity that every detail he absorbed, every suggestion I made together... it wasn’t business. It was intimacy.

I stepped back, suddenly dizzy. "Want a tour outside? Fresh air." The crowd hadn’t even arrived yet, but I needed space from this charged bubble. He nodded, and we stepped onto the patio. The wind was brisk, but for some reason, it felt safe out here, away from potential collisions.

I crossed my arms, wrapping myself in the leather jacket I’d brought just in case. “Tell me, Rhett—why now?”

He exhaled slowly. “Because I needed to get it right.”

“Right for you.” I pressed.

“Right for them.” His voice softened. “For the kids.” Then he paused, lifting his gaze to the skyline beyond. “And maybe… right for me.”

I studied the clean lines of his face, the set of his jaw. “I still don’t know what you are to me,” I said quietly.

“Neither do I,” he admitted. The vulnerability in his voice was unpolished, raw. “But I know that I can’t shut you out again.”

It took everything in me not to swallow hard. To let the tension settle, warmly, in my chest. Instead, I said, “Don’t pretend you know me now.”

He looked at me like he might, and I turned my head before I lost myself in it.

When we returned inside, I dove back into the setup—I needed to rebuild boundaries, brick by brick. He followed suit, silent but present.

A knock made us both jump. Lila strode in, projector in hand. I nudged Rhett with my elbow. “It’s just Lila,” I hissed, though relief bloomed inside me.

“Thanks,” I told Lila. “We’ll need that later.”

As she left, I looked up. Rhett was watching me. Studying me. I felt small under his gaze.

“Something’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head, forcing a smile. “Just thinking I created all this… without you.”

He exhaled. “And?”

“It’s still mine.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he reached out, pressing gentle fingertips to my shoulder. “Only if you let me share it.”

The ache in my chest twisted with longing and fear. I pulled my shoulder away, guilt flaring behind my eyes.

We finished the walk-through. Ended up laughing over how many extension cords we’d both tripped on. It was absurd. And merciful.

At dusk, when I stepped into the driver’s seat of my car, I realized my hands were trembling—exhaustion, adrenaline—or both.

Rhett sat beside me silently. He put a hand on my knee—light, steady. “You did good,” he said.

The words felt unfair. I’d done good apart from him for years. But at that moment, I leaned into the warmth of it—and into him.

I drove off slowly, headlights illuminating puddles on the road. I glanced over at him. He glanced back. And for once, neither of us looked away.