Chapter 80: Eighty

I barely slept.

The encounter with Declan at the grocery store played over in my mind on loop, like some scene from a movie I couldn’t walk out of. The stunned look in Declan’s eyes. The way his lips parted, like he wanted to say something and couldn’t. The way my breath had hitched when his hand had brushed mine for just a little second. And the fact that I hadn’t told Jacob. I couldn't. I had barely managed to tell myself.

Now it was Monday, and I was running late.

I clutched my coffee to my chest. The condensation was getting my shirt wet but I did not notice.  I had asked for two extra shots of espresso. Maybe it would slow the spinning in my chest. My stomach had been a ball of nerves since last night, and my blouse was wrinkled, hastily pulled from the drying line in the morning. Noah had spilled juice on my pants before I left, and my bag was still sticky from a granola bar explosion. I looked like a mom, a woman with a life, a history, a future. I didn’t feel like one.

When I got to the office, people were buzzing about something or someone.

“You’re just in time,” said my manager, grinning as she ushered me into the conference room. “Meet the new consultant.”

No.

No, no, no.

My body stiffened even before I turned. Like my nerves knew before my eyes did. And then I saw him.

Declan.

Tall, composed, leaning against the edge of the table like he belonged there. He was in a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled up, arms crossed loosely like he wasn’t about to knock the wind out of me. His hair was shorter than yesterday. It was shorter than I had ever seen it. But his eyes. His eyes were still the same. And right now, they were staring straight at me.

For a second, the whole room quieted. I could hear my own breathing, shallow and jagged. Declan’s expression didn’t change. I guess he had always been good at maintaining facades.

I blinked. Straightened my spine. Forced a polite smile.

“Willow Whitefield,” My manager was saying, nudging me forward, “She’ll be working with you on the campaign strategy. She’s one of our best.”

Declan gave the barest nod. “Ms. Whitefield.”

Ms. Whitefield. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask him if he knew what name Noah’s birth certificate had under ‘father.’

“Mr. Ashwell,” I replied, matching his energy.

His lips twitched. Not a smile, more like a muscle memory of one that never reached his eyes.

My manager, oblivious, clapped her hands. “You two are going to be a dream team.”

If only she knew.

The meeting rolled forward. I couldn’t concentrate as people went on about plans, and deadlines, and timelines. I tried to focus, to take notes, to pretend my pulse wasn’t racing. Declan spoke like a man who hadn’t seen me crash and burn five years ago. Like he didn’t once whisper that he loved me with his forehead pressed to mine.

He was colder now. Clinical. Efficient.

It was like he didn’t know me at all. Like he never had.

It was worse than anger.

By lunch, I had managed to avoid being alone with him. I sat at my desk, pretending to read last year’s outreach reports. The words blurred into gray waves. My hands were shaking.

“Hey,” a voice said beside me.

I flinched.

It was Lucas, the finance manager. He plopped down in the chair across from mine. “You okay? You don’t look well. Long night?”

I smiled, thin and forced. “Yeah, really didn’t sleep well.”

He shrugged. “Same. My cat threw up on my sheets. Anyway, interesting new guy, huh? He’s apparently won some fancy research award.”

“Mm,” I replied, noncommittal.

“He’s kind of intense, though. You guys know each other or something? He looked at you like... I don’t know. Like you used to be friends and now you're not.”

I forced a laugh. “Do you write fanfiction in your free time?”

He grinned and held up his hands. “Just saying.”

He wandered off, and I exhaled slowly.

By 4 PM, I had no choice but to sit in a one-on-one session with Declan. We were prepping a presentation for the upcoming donor event. My hands trembled slightly as I clicked open the shared document.

He was already seated in the meeting room, arms folded, watching me with a cool expression.

I sat opposite him, refusing to break first. “Let’s get started.”

Declan nodded. “Of course.”

His voice was deeper than I remembered. Older. Tired, maybe. His jaw clenched when I looked at him too long.

I think yesterday I had been so shocked to see him, I had forgotten to notice these little details.

We went over slides. Bullet points. Color schemes. It was painful in its civility. The silence between our words was loud.

At one point, our hands brushed reaching for the same pen. I recoiled instinctively, and his jaw ticked.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said finally.

I didn’t look up. “Likewise.”

“You work here.”

I nodded. “You consult now.”

A pause.

“Did you ever plan to reach out?”

That made me look up.

“No,” I said quietly.

He stared at me for a moment, then nodded once, slowly. “Right.”

The weight of everything we weren’t saying filled the space between us. I wanted to reach across the table, tell him the truth. About Noah. About everything. But my mouth stayed shut.

He gathered his notes. “Let me know if you need anything from me before tomorrow.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

He walked out the door, and I was left alone, feeling like someone had sliced my heart open and let it bleed all over the floor. And now I had to clean up the blood.

That evening, as I walked to my car, my phone buzzed. A text from Jacob.

Jacob: Just checking in. You okay? How was your day? <3

I typed back: Long day, lots of meetings. Will call later. Love you.

Then I stared at the screen, thumb hovering over Declan’s name in my contacts.

I deleted it.