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Chapter Four

A urora

I run a towel over my wet hair. My hand trembles, making the process difficult. It’s hard to do anything when I’m still buzzed from my interactions with Tate.

“I really want to see you again, Kelly.”

My knees wobble as I recall Tate’s devilish smirk leveled at me.

How is this happening to me?

I’ve floated around my hotel for the last couple of hours, replaying our conversation on the plane and again at baggage claim when we ran into each other.

He offered me a ride to the hotel. I politely declined.

My body still tingles from his hand touching my lower back as he helped me into my ride-share.

He wasn’t thrilled with my decision to get into the car with the random driver the app sent, and I saw him snap a quick picture of the license plate.

I had to finesse my way through the interaction, so he didn’t pick up on my real name, and I apologized to Tony, the driver, for Tate’s subtle-not-subtle instruction to get me to the hotel quickly, safely, and in one piece.

It was unnecessary. It was also so fucking hot.

My phone rings in the bedroom, and I work my fingers through my wet hair as I answer it.

“Hello,” I say, putting my intern, Tally, on speakerphone.

“Hi, Aurora. How’s Columbus?”

“No complaints so far. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to check in and see if you need anything before I leave for the weekend.”

“You’re sweet, Tally. Thank you for checking on me. I can’t think of anything I need, and things here are going great.” My ego is on cloud nine. “How are things in the office?”

“Good. I finally got the schedule for the stadium gym and forwarded it to you. It’s already pretty full through the end of the year, so we might want to reserve slots next week to be sure we have space for tryouts.”

I smile. “Smart.”

I’m lucky to be working with her.

Gaining Tally Thatcher as an intern was an unexpected win. She already had a couple of months’ experience working for the team, and we clicked instantly. She’s kind and passionate, and her energy makes work fun.

“I also did some digging into community events for the rest of the year and found a few that I think might work great,” she says. “Everyone I’ve talked to has been very receptive to working with us. I’m so excited about how this is coming together.”

“That’s excellent news. Did you hear back from Charlie about our timeline?”

“Yeah …” She hesitates, drawing my curiosity. “He came by this morning and asked to meet with us on Tuesday. I got the feeling that something was off.”

“Really?” My brows pull together. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t seem upset with us or anything. It was more like his tone hinted something was on his mind that he wanted to say in person. I don’t know how to describe it.”

I hum, racking my brain for potential issues.

Everything has been going so well. Charlie has shown me nothing but kindness and encouragement, and we’ve been working seamlessly together. He even said he knew I was perfect for the job as soon as I walked into our interview.

So what could be the problem now?

A bubble of anxiety churns in my stomach. I cannot lose this job. Financially speaking, I’d be fine. I can always return to full-time at The Luxe. But money isn’t my main objective.

This job fulfills me. It challenges me. Excites me.

When one of my clients mentioned that her husband was hiring for a position at his work, and she thought I should apply, I was intrigued.

But when I heard what the position was for—that it involved so many things that I loved so much—I was all in.

By the time the interview rolled around, I wasn’t beyond begging for a chance to prove I was the perfect fit.

Luckily, it didn’t come to that.

“I’m sure he just wants a face-to-face update,” I say, hoping Tally doesn’t worry about this all weekend. “We didn’t sit down with him this week. Remember?”

“Yes, I bet you’re right.” The relief in her tone is evident. “Do you have anything else for me?”

“I don’t think so. Go and have a great weekend. Do you have any plans?”

“I’m going home this weekend to train for a pickleball tournament.”

“You never fail to surprise me, Tally,” I say, laughing.

“Why?” She laughs, too. “You don’t see me as a pickleballer?”

“Admittedly, I don’t know a lot about pickleball, but I have seen a few videos, and it can get vicious. On the other hand, you are five-foot-nothing and sweet and precious. I can’t see you slamming a ball at someone’s face.”

She giggles. “See? That’s my superpower. They see me as this innocent twentysomething and write me off. Then I walk onto the court and rip their hearts from their bodies.”

Laughter erupts from me so quickly that I cough.

“That may be a little dramatic,” she says. “But you get the point. I’m no pickleball joke. My hometown has a yearly tournament, and I’m the reigning champ for four years straight. I’ve had different teammates, so clearly, I’m the common denominator.”

“Clearly.”

“This year’s prize is the biggest yet, and I will win . But, to do that, I have to teach my boyfriend how to play.”

I lean against the counter, amused. “Is he not an athlete?”

“No, he is. He played baseball for the community college. But pickleball is not just about athleticism. You have to have chemistry with your teammate. You have to be able to predict their reactions and trust them to handle their side of the court. A lot goes into it.”

“I wish you the best of luck,” I say, grinning.

“Thanks, but I don’t really need it. I’m a legend.”

I can’t help it—I laugh again. This girl is something else.

“What about you?” she asks. “You have the event tomorrow. What are you doing the rest of the time? Is there a cocktail hour or something?”

Not exactly, but there could’ve been cock involved if I would’ve said yes to Tate, I think.

I clear my throat and try to decide what to tell her.

Our relationship is 95 percent professional, and I make a concerted effort not to make our conversations too personal. But building camaraderie with your team is essential. She’s my right hand and the person I need to vibe with the most. Giving her bits and pieces of me and my life goes a long way.

Besides, I want to tell someone about Tate. I want to share the excitement with another woman that a ridiculously hot guy asked me out, and Jamie didn’t answer when I called her earlier. She didn’t call me back, either.

Maddie must have been a handful.

“Something exciting happened to me today.” I shove away from the counter.

“Oh really? Tell me more.”

I clear my throat. “I was asked out on a date.”

“You what? Oh my God . How exciting! Where are you going?”

“Well … I turned him down.”

“ Oh . Why?”

I wander around the room aimlessly, needing the movement to fight off the excess energy building inside me.

“He was much too young for me,” I say. “ Much too hot. And he had trouble written all over him.”

She laughs. “That sounds like a damn good time, Aurora.”

Don’t I know it .

The longer I’ve been in this hotel room, the more I’ve started to regret my decision. Sure, I remember why I said no, and I stand by that decision. It was the right call.

But dammit if I keep thinking about what it would be like to see him again—to experience his intense gaze and feel his unmistakable attention and attraction leveled my way. It’s been so long since I felt so feminine—desired—and after that small taste, I’d love to experience more.

I need more than that, but it would take off the edge. It could be so much fun, too, given the male in mind, and that sounds so appealing. But …

“So you said no,” she says, her voice carrying a tenderness I appreciate. “And now you’re kinda wishing you would’ve said yes. Is that right?”

I blow out a breath. “Yeah. Kind of.”

“What was this guy like? Tell me about him.”

“He’s physical perfection. His personality is a mix of sexy and playful, which makes my brain overheat. He sat by me on the plane, and we had a great conversation. He was just …” I put a hand to my chest and sigh. “I’m in over my head here, Tally. What am I doing?”

“You are not in over your head.” She giggles. “Listen, I know you just got divorced and want to ease your way into dating again, but he doesn’t sound like a serial killer or sheep kicker.”

“Sheep kicker?” I ask, laughing.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night. Work with me.”

I laugh again.

“My point is that if you really wanted to see him, what would it hurt? Do you know anything else about him? Is he from Columbus? What does he do for a living? Like, would your paths cross again after this weekend?”

I start pacing again. “I don’t think so. He’s here for work, but I’m unsure if he’s from Nashville or if he was there on a layover.”

“Okay, great. Just see this guy while you’re there and use it to ease yourself into the game instead of thinking of it as the game. Reframe it in your mind. This could be what you were after all along. You just panicked.”

I frown. I didn’t panic. I just …

Yeah, I panicked.

Oof.

“Call him,” Tally says. “I’m sure he’s hoping you will.”

“I don’t have his phone number. I don’t even know his last name.” I grimace. “He doesn’t even know my real name because I told him mine was Kelly Kapowski.”

“Why did you do that?” She laughs. “ Kelly Kapowski? ”

“She was the pretty cheerleader on a show I watched growing up. But that’s not the point.”

“With all due respect, why are you the way you are?”

I shrug helplessly. “Two divorces will do this to you.”

“ Oh my God .” Tally giggles. “I just searched Kelly Kapowski online. She was a cutie in her little cheerleading outfits while she flirted with Zack—who was hot, by the way. How have I not seen this show before?”

Of course, she googled Kelly Kapowski.

“Speaking of hotties,” she says. “You might luck out and see yours before the weekend is over. The world works in mysterious ways, you know.”

“Maybe.”

“And if you do? Live a little. It’s not like he can even look you up if he doesn’t know your name. So if he wants to take you to dinner, why not? Why not enjoy the attention and get back into the swing of things? Then you can come home with one adventure under your belt.”

It’d be an adventure, all right.

“Thanks for the pep talk,” I say.

“Anytime.”

“Thanks for the call, too. I appreciate you.”

“Of course. Good luck this weekend,” she says.

“You, too. Good luck with pickleball.”

“Not needed! Bye!”

“Goodbye.”

I end the call and set my phone on the counter beside my toothbrush.

My reflection shines back at me. Instead of noticing my crow’s feet or laugh lines, I see the rosiness of my cheeks. My eyes appear lit from the inside.

I look happy.

Since my divorce from Kent, I’ve done a hundred things to reshape my existence.

I’ve read books, taken yoga classes, and filled my body with healthy vitamins and minerals.

There have been girls’ nights and wine and paint parties.

My wardrobe has been updated with things that make me feel good, and I got a new job that I love.

I’ve gone through my life with a scalpel, cutting away everything that doesn’t fit my new vision for the future. I’m left with a beautiful canvas filled with good things. There’s so much room to add to it, too.

I’m thriving.

The only glaring hole is my desperate need to be touched.

I reach for a bottle of lotion.

Despite what I was raised to believe, the desire to be touched by another person is a primal human need. I want that connection. I want the passion, the intimacy that I read about in my novels—if even for a night.

“I really want to see you again, Kelly.”

I set the lotion down as Tally’s words come to mind.

“So if he wants to take you to dinner, why not? Why not enjoy the attention and get back into the swing of things?”

Blood rushes through my veins as my brain kicks into overdrive, barreling into an area that makes my heart pound faster. I don’t know his last name, and he doesn’t know mine at all. I did tell him where I was going for dinner tonight, but who knows if he picked up on it?

If he really wants to see me—if the universe thinks we should meet again, he’ll be there. Right?

I force a swallow, then blow out a long breath, steadying myself.

If he doesn’t show up tonight, nothing is hurt. Life goes on. But if he does …

“You can come home with one adventure under your belt.”

The idea of seeing Tate again sends a rush of excitement down my spine. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this—so … alive.

“Fuck it. What can it hurt?” I snort as I reach for the lotion again. “Famous last words …”