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He stopped at the facility entrance. “Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For coming.”

I watched him walk inside, the door closing behind him, the sunlight cutting across the entrance and dividing the world into the bright side where I stood and the dark interior where he disappeared.

My phone buzzed.

Bella: Update on Mr. Sunshine, or I’m filing a missing persons report on your emotional intelligence.

Me: We had soup.

Bella: SOUP? Are you telling me you went from a jazz club kiss to SOUP? Samantha Cole, you are the slowest-burning romance novel I’ve ever had to live through, and I am RIVETED.

But it was the most honest meal I had eaten in three years, and I could still taste it.

Chapter thirteen

Samantha

Istayed late because the light was wrong.

That was the official reason.

By seven, the facility had emptied. Players were gone. Coaches too. The admin wing had gone dim behind its glass doors, leaving my laptop fan and the click of my mouse to sound louder than they should.

The campaign selections were open across my screen.

Brick with a kid on his shoulders. Evan crouched in front of the boy from the community event, his hand steady on the child’s grip.

I should have moved past that folder.

I did not.

Editing was not passive. You cleared away distractions until the truth had less room to hide.

My phone buzzed.

Bella: I have had time to process the soup update.

Bella: I have follow-up questions.

Bella: Were there spoons?

I turned the phone over.

Absolutely not. I was not discussing spoon proximity with an assistant district attorney who treated boundaries like hostile witnesses.

I moved to the media day portraits.

Evan on the mark. Body turned exactly where I had told him. Chin lifted half an inch. Eyes finally on me.

The frame was sharp enough to hurt.

The frame was all control on the surface and recognition underneath.

By the time I packed up, the facility was mostly dark.