Saturday arrived with the weight of performance.
Ayana stood in front of her closet, staring at the dress her mother had laid out—navy blue, high neckline, hem below the knee. The kind of dress that screamed pastor's daughter and whispered, "Don't look at me."
She pushed it aside and grabbed the emerald green one instead.
"Ana," Mom said—" Catherine appeared in the doorway, then stopped. "Oh, you're going to start a war."
"It's just a dress."
"It's a statement." Catherine grinned. "And Nelson's going to lose his mind when he sees you."
Ayana's reflection showed a woman in a dress that hugged curves, dipped low enough to be interesting, hit high enough to show leg. Her hair fell in loose waves. Her makeup was subtle but deliberate. She looked like herself—confident, adult, done apologizing for existing.
"Mom's going to have a stroke," Catherine said.
"Then maybe she should stop trying to dress me like I'm twelve."
Downstairs, her mother's reaction was predictable. Sharp inhale. Tight smile. "That's... certainly a choice."
"I think she looks beautiful," her father said, oblivious as always. "Grown up. My little girl's a woman now."
If he only knew just how much of a woman she'd become.
---
The community centre had been transformed. White lights strung across the ceiling. Tables dressed in cream linens. A buffet spread that showcased local restaurants' donations. The fundraiser brought out everyone who mattered in Millbrook—business owners, church leaders, and city officials.
And Nelson.
He stood near the entrance, greeting guests with that controlled smile she'd learned to read. He wore a charcoal suit that emphasized his shoulders, a white shirt that made his eyes darker. He looked professional, polished, and untouchable.
Until he saw her.
Their eyes met across the room, and she watched his composure crack. His gaze travelled down her body—slow, hungry, possessive—before he caught himself. His jaw clenched. His hand tightened around his glass.
Good.
"Ayana Marcus!" Mayor Richardson appeared, all false cheer and political smile. "Back from the big city. How does little Millbrook compare to Boston?"
"It has its charms," she said, still watching Nelson.
"I hear you've been volunteering. Wonderful, wonderful. Nelson runs a tight ship here. Best thing that ever happened to this community." The mayor lowered his voice. "Though between you and me, the man needs to relax. Works too hard. Never takes time for himself."
I'm working on that, Ayana thought.
Her father appeared, Nelson beside him, and suddenly the air felt too thin.
"Mayor, you've met my daughter," her father said proudly. "Ayana, Nelson was just telling me about the job opening. Youth coordinator position. I think you'd be perfect for it."
"I haven't officially applied," she said carefully, acutely aware of Nelson's presence.
"Consider this your interview," Nelson said, his voice professionally neutral. But his eyes; his eyes held heat and warning and want. "We can discuss it on Monday. In my office. Privately."
The word privately sounds like a promise.
"I'd like that."
Her father beamed, completely missing the undercurrent. "Excellent. Having you home permanently would make your mother and me so happy. And you'd be working with Nelson—I can't think of a better mentor."
Mentor. Right.
Nelson's expression didn't change, but she saw the muscle tick in his jaw.
"If you'll excuse me," Nelson said. "I should check on the caterers."
He left, and Ayana felt his absence like a physical thing.
---
The evening crawled. Ayana made small talk with people she'd known her whole life, accepted compliments on her dress, deflected questions about Boston and boyfriends and future plans. All while tracking Nelson's movements around the room.
He was everywhere—thanking donors, discussing programs, charming wealthy patrons into opening their wallets. He was brilliant at it, she realized. Passionate about the work, genuine in his care for the community. This wasn't just penance. This was purpose.
And she wanted to be part of it.
"He's impressive, isn't he?"
Ayana turned. Raven Cole stood beside her, wine glass in hand, eyes sharp and assessing. Tonight, she wore red—bold, attention-grabbing, deliberate.
"Nelson," Raven clarified. "The way he commands a room. The way people respond to him. He could have been anything—CEO, politician. Instead, he chose this." She sipped her wine. "Some people find that noble. I find it tragic."
"Tragic?"
"All that potential, that passion, wasted on self-flagellation." Raven's smile was knowing. "He's been punishing himself for twenty years over something that wasn't even his fault. Survivor's guilt was taken to pathological extremes."
"You seem to know him well."
"I've worked with him for five years. I know him better than most." Raven's gaze slid to Ayana, calculating. "I also know when something's changed. He's been different this week. Distracted. Almost... alive. For the first time since I've known him."
Ayana's heart hammered. "Maybe he's just excited about the fundraiser."
"Maybe." Raven's smile sharpened. "Or maybe something else has his attention. Someone else."
Before Ayana could respond, Dr. Hayes appeared, smoothly intercepting. "Raven, the board members are asking about next quarter's volunteer schedule. Could you help them with those projections?"
Raven's eyes lingered on Ayana for a beat too long. Then she smiled, all professional courtesy. "Of course. Excuse me."
She left. Dr. Hayes turned to Ayana, his expression gentle but serious.
"Be careful," he said quietly. "She's observant. And ambitious. If she thinks there's something that could damage Nelson's reputation, she'll dig until she finds it."
"Why are you helping us?"
"Because Nelson deserves happiness. Because twenty years is long enough. Because—" He smiled sadly. "Because Sarah was my niece, and she would have hated what he's done to himself. She would have wanted him to love again."
Ayana's throat tightened. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Just be careful. Both of you." He squeezed her shoulder and walked away.
---
At nine o'clock, the crowd began thinning. Older guests left. Remaining attendees clustered in small groups, wine flowing, guards lowering. Ayana's parents were deep in conversation with the church council. Catherine had disappeared with her fiancé.
Nelson caught Ayana's eye from across the room. Tilted his head slightly toward the hallway. A silent invitation.
She waited five minutes, then slipped away. Found him in his office, door cracked, lights dim. He stood by the window, shoulders tense, barely leashed control evident in every line of his body.
"You wore that dress on purpose," he said without turning.
"Maybe."
"You're torturing me." He finally turned, and the hunger in his eyes made her breath catch. "All night, watching you, not able to touch you. Listening to men compliment you, watching them look at you. Do you have any idea—"
She closed the door. Locked it. "Tell me."
"I wanted to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here. Take you home. Remind you exactly who you belong to." He moved toward her, predatory. "I wanted to mark you so everyone would know. So they'd stop looking."
"I'm not yours to mark just yet."
"No." He stopped inches away. "But privately?"
"Privately, I'm yours. Completely."
He kissed her—hard, desperate, possessive. His hands fisted in her hair, messing it deliberately. She gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, kissing her deeper.
"We can't," she breathed when he moved to her neck. "Someone could—"
"I know." But he didn't stop. "Just one minute. Just let me—"
A knock on the door froze them both.
"Nelson?" Raven's voice. "Are you in there? The board wants to thank you before they leave."
They sprang apart. Nelson straightened his tie and ran a hand through his hair. Ayana pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks, knowing she looked thoroughly kissed.
"One second," Nelson called, his voice remarkably steady.
He looked at Ayana, and in his eyes, she saw fear and frustration and love so intense it hurt.
"Wait five minutes," he whispered. "Then leave separately. Use the back exit."
"Nelson—"
"Please. I can't if they found us–" He stopped, breathing hard. "I can't lose you. Not yet. Not before we've had time to—"
She kissed him softly. "Five minutes. I promise."
He unlocked the door and slipped out. She heard his voice in the hallway, smooth and professional, greeting Raven. Heard their footsteps fade.
She waited, counting seconds, fixing her hair, trying to calm her racing heart.
When she finally emerged, using the back exit as instructed, she nearly walked into her father.
"There you are!" He smiled, oblivious to her dishevelled state. "Your mother's looking for you. Ready to head home?"
"Yes," she said, hoping her voice didn't shake. "Absolutely."
But as they walked to the car, she caught Nelson watching from his office window. The longing on his face was unmistakable.
And somewhere in the crowd, Raven Cole was watching too.