“I didn’t want to mention this in front of everyone, but Mr. Whitley from the BCH board reached out this morning to inquire about having you speak at the gala.”
My feet slow to a crawl and then stop completely. “Me? Why?”
“He thinks your personal experience would be a powerful message for potential donors to hear.”
Chest tight, I suck in a long breath through my nose. I don’t talk much about what happened to Maddy. Moving on hasn’t been without its challenges, especially in the beginning. I’ve had eleven years to reckon with the loss of my childhood best friend. But, I didn’t just lose Maddy. Mom lost Gwyn, too. Our grief has always been inextricably intertwined. As much as I believe I’m okay now—and I truly do believe I am—there’s no remembering one without the other.Thatis when it starts to hurt a little too much.
The people at BCH did everything in their power, went above and beyond to try and save Maddy. If it weren’t for the kind souls working the halls and waiting rooms of that place, I never would have started this annual fundraiser to begin with.
I clear the emotion in my throat. “Tell him I’ll do it.”
“Great,” she says, both of us starting toward my office again. “If you need help drafting your speech or need to practice it on someb—holy cannoli.”
Olive stops abruptly in my wake. I find her over my shoulder, eyes as slack as her mouth. I turn and close the gap between us. “What?”
“Who’s that?”
I track her gaze until I find thewhoshe’s referring to. My smile is ridiculous.
Gray joggers. Faded black OBX T-shirt pulled snug over his chest and biceps. Two arms full of tattoos on glorious display. Army ball cap flipped backward.
“He’s…that’s…” I stammer. His eyes find mine. He serpentines through the cubicles to get to me, never dropping my stare. “Rowan,” I breathe. “He’s here for me.”
Olive somewhere behind me, I inch forward to meet him at the threshold to my office. “Hey, soldier.”
He leans in and whispers, “I feel like everyone’s staring at me.”
I grin through tight lips. Hawkley House is predominantly employed by women. And they’re all definitely staring.
“You’re like Bigfoot passing through a documentarian’s campsite after his camera battery died.”
“Is that a height joke?”
“It’s athey live for this but were totally unprepared for you to actually show upjoke. Staring is all they have.”
He shoots me a glare, turning his hat forward like that’ll make him invisible as he repositions himself so the office lurkers are at his back.
“Great. Now they get to stare at your ass.”
One step closer, then another. “You flirting with me, runaway?”
I smile. “Yes. Should I be? I don’t know.” My hazels ping between his blues. “Is that okay?”
His reply is nothing but a popped dimple. I drop his gaze before I poke it with my finger like I did last night. My eyes land on the brown paper bag in his hand.
“I brought lunch,” he says. “You have time?”
“Of course.”
I close us inside my office, much to the chagrin of the sea of hungry intern eyes, and take a seat at my desk. Rowan drops a foil-wrapped hot dog next to my keyboard. My smile breaks on a quiet chuckle.
“Only the best for you, Hannah. Casey’s Quick Mart to be exact.”
“Yes, but did you remem?—”
He flips the bag upside down,dozensof tiny mustard packets descending. A rainstorm of condiments.
“I remember,” he adds with a wink.