The next Saturday, the community center hummed with the sound of children again. Elena crouched at a table, helping a boy named Lucas untangle his brush from a sticky wad of paint. He laughed as he smeared another streak of blue across the paper, oblivious to the splatter that hit her arm.
Across the room, Adrian was trying to read a storybook aloud. Or rather, trying and failing. The kids interrupted him every other line, demanding sound effects or shouting out alternate endings. He looked impossibly serious holding the flimsy paperback, his deep voice colliding with the children's wild imaginations.
Elena caught herself smiling before she could stop it.
"Don't get used to that view," Mira whispered, slipping into the seat beside her.
Elena blinked. "What view?"
Mira arched a brow, nodding toward Adrian. "Tall, broody, and currently being outsmarted by a five-year-old."
Heat rushed to Elena's cheeks. "I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." Mira grinned. "You've been staring at him like he's the last paintbrush in the world."
Elena shook her head, returning her attention to Lucas's masterpiece. But her pulse betrayed her. Mira, of course, noticed.
"You didn't tell me he'd be volunteering here," Mira pressed, lowering her voice. "You and Adrian Hale, in the same building again? That's not coincidence—that's the universe pulling strings."
"It's… complicated."
"Complicated?" Mira tilted her head. "That's one word for it. From what I remember, he's the one that got away. The golden boy. Every parent's dream."
Elena's throat tightened. "He's not—he wasn't—"
Mira's eyes softened. "You don't have to defend yourself to me, you know." She nudged Elena's arm. "But you could've warned me. I nearly spilled my coffee when I saw him walk in."
Elena tried to laugh it off, but the sound felt brittle.
Then Mira said it. Carelessly, without weight. The name that cracked the air.
"I mean, sure, Adrian was always the polished one, but his brother—what's his name again? Daniel? Now that one could charm his way out of anything. I ran into him at a bar once, years back. Nearly talked me into singing karaoke with him, and you know I'd rather die." She laughed. "Guess the Hale family hit the genetic jackpot twice."
The brush slipped from Elena's fingers, clattering onto the table.
Mira frowned. "Elena?"
"I—uh—sorry." Elena grabbed for the brush, her hands trembling slightly. "Just tired."
But her chest had gone tight, her heartbeat erratic. Daniel. Of all names. Mira had spoken it so easily, like it was harmless.
Elena forced herself to smile. "You know me. Not a fan of karaoke either."
Mira studied her, suspicion flickering in her eyes. But before she could press, Lucas demanded more paper, splattering paint across the table, and Mira let it go.
Elena exhaled slowly, relief and dread warring inside her.
Across the room, Adrian glanced up from the chaos of storytime. Their eyes met. Just for a moment. Long enough for her to wonder if he'd heard.
---
Later that evening
The children were gone, the tables wiped clean. Mira had left with a cheerful wave, promising to drag Elena out for drinks "so you can decompress from Mr. Tall-and-Troubled."
Elena lingered behind, stacking supplies. She felt Adrian before she saw him—his steady presence, his silence heavy as a storm.
"You should've told her," Adrian said finally, his voice flat.
Her hands stilled on the box of brushes. "Told her what?"
"That my brother's name isn't meant for casual conversation."
Elena's throat constricted. She didn't turn around. "She didn't know."
"But you did." His tone sharpened. "And you let her say it."
Elena spun, anger flaring despite the guilt in her chest. "What was I supposed to do? Slam my hands over her mouth? Pretend the past doesn't exist?"
Adrian's eyes darkened. "The past doesn't just exist, Elena. It lives. It breathes. It ruins."
The words hit like a slap.
He took a step closer, every line of him rigid. "You think you can paint over it, bury it under colors and smiles? You can't. Not when I see his shadow every time I look at you."
Her breath caught. She wanted to scream, to deny, to explain. But the truth knotted her tongue.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, hating how small her voice sounded.
Adrian's jaw clenched, his control iron-tight. "Don't apologize to me. Not unless you're ready to tell the whole truth."
Silence pressed in around them. Then he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with the echo of Daniel's name and the crushing weight of secrets still unspoken.