4.THE GHOST BETWEEN US

ARDEN

Rhett’s cologne still clung to my skin long after I left Crimson. It was maddening—how scent could haunt like memory. How just standing beside him for a few hours undid years of distance. I’d spent so long learning how to live without his gravity that being near it again felt like a betrayal to myself.

The city blurred by in golden streaks as I drove. Sunset through the windshield caught the shimmer in my mascara, and I realized I hadn’t taken a full breath since we left the venue.

He was good at pretending. I had to remind myself of that.

The next morning, I arrived at the gallery early, coffee in hand, determined to bury the night before under schedules, contracts, and backlogged emails. The fundraiser was still two weeks away, but the planning was relentless—sponsors to confirm, table layouts to tweak, silent auction pieces to finalize.

“Arden!” Lila called from the backroom, already sorting through stacks of promo flyers. “Did you see Rhett posted a teaser on Crimson’s socials? It’s getting crazy engagement.”

Of course he did. Always the showman.

I took a sip of my latte and feigned interest. “Good for him. Did he tag the foundation?”

“He did. Full video edit, even a clip of the band we booked. I have to admit…” She leaned around the corner. “The man knows how to sell a vibe.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

I settled into my office, opened my laptop, and tried to drown myself in logistics. Anything to keep my brain from circling back to the way Rhett had looked at me the night before—like he still saw every version of me I’d tried to outgrow.

By mid-afternoon, I had half a dozen new emails and a headache threatening to split behind my eyes. I reached for my phone to silence a text—Rhett, again—and forced myself not to open it.

Not now.

But the universe had other plans.

The gallery door chimed and when I looked up, he was already inside—too fast, like he’d been waiting just outside to catch me off guard.

He wore a black henley, sleeves pushed to his elbows, and that quiet determination in his step that used to make me reckless. He carried a folder in one hand and something unreadable in his eyes.

“Did you get my message?” he asked.

I blinked. “You mean the one I didn’t open?”

He smiled, slow and unbothered. “I figured.”

“Rhett, this isn’t a drop-in situation. I’m working.”

“I’m here about the auction donors. A few updates.”

He held up the folder like proof, but we both knew that wasn’t the real reason he came.

I motioned him toward my desk anyway, against better judgment. “Make it quick.”

He sat across from me, legs spread wide, confidence oozing in that infuriating way he had—casual, but calculated. Always had been.

“We got confirmation from Penrose Jewelry and that private sculptor in Brentwood—Noelle Lang.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Noelle? Seriously? She said no three times.”

“She said yes to me.”

I should’ve been impressed. I wasn’t. “Funny how your charm works miracles when it’s not aimed at people you claim to care about.”

His eyes darkened, the smirk vanishing. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is showing up after two years and acting like we’re just… coworkers.”

“I’m not acting like anything. I’m showing up. Isn’t that what you wanted back then?”

Back then.

That phrase crashed into me like a rip current. Two stupid words, full of memories I hadn’t asked to remember.

“You showing up now doesn’t erase everything,” I whispered, each syllable clipped and shaking. “It doesn’t change that you walked away when I needed you most.”

His jaw clenched. “You think I didn’t need you too?”

I stood from the desk, pulse pounding. “Don’t twist this.”

“I’m not. But you weren’t the only one hurting, Arden.”

“I was the one who stayed.” My voice cracked, raw and sharp.

We stared at each other, a beat of silence thick with every unsaid word. I could hear my own breath in the quiet, fast and uneven. Rhett stood slowly, the folder forgotten between us.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said. “But I’m not going to pretend it didn’t happen. You deserve better than fake politeness.”

“And what do you think I deserve?”

His voice softened. “The truth.”

Something in me wanted to believe him. But I was tired. Tired of half-promises. Of looking at him and remembering the version of us that shattered.

“You left me in pieces,” I said quietly. “I had to rebuild my life without you. Don’t come in now and act like you still have a right to be here.”

“I don’t want a right,” he said, inching closer. “I just want to fix what I broke.”

I looked away. Not because I didn’t believe him—but because part of me still did. And that was dangerous.

“Arden…”

I stepped back, shaking my head. “Please go.”

For once, he listened.

He left without another word, the bell above the door chiming like an echo of heartbreak.

When he was gone, I sat down slowly, heart thundering in my chest.

I didn’t cry.

But I also didn’t get anything done for the rest of the day.