Chapter 84: Eighty Four

The next morning, I was hoping and praying I wouldn’t have to interact with Declan more. I had a meeting to lead today about a project I had been planning for months, now.

I’d spent the entire morning coaxing Noah into school shoes and pretending that I hadn’t Googled my ex-boyfriend’s name in seven different variations the night before. I deserved a break. A boring team meeting. A regular Tuesday.

But then he was there. Sitting at the far end of the table in a charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, scrolling through the printout of our project brief with a highlighter in hand.

I hesitated in the doorway for half a second before composing myself and sliding into my usual seat next to Ashley.

“You didn’t tell me he’d be here,” I whispered.

She smiled, not looking up from her notes. “I thought you’d appreciate the element of surprise.”

“Evil,” I muttered.

She grinned.

Priya, our project director, clapped her hands. “Alright, everyone. Let’s jump in.”

As she spoke, outlining the next phase of our urban youth development initiative, I kept my eyes on the handout. Anything but him. But the room seemed to shift around his presence, he was quiet, but hyper-attentive. Every time someone spoke, he tilted his head slightly, like he was calibrating their frequency. It was maddening.

All the people who made a point would look at him, then. Hungry for his validation. Fuck, they were just salivating for even a nod of his head.

“And for the implementation team,” Priya continued, “Willow will continue as project lead. Dr. Ashwell will join you, Willow, on this project. As co-lead.”

I blinked.

“Sorry, what?”

Everyone looked at me.

“Co-lead?” I repeated, a touch too sharply.

Priya smiled tightly. “Yes. Given his background in participatory infrastructure and his consulting track record, we think this partnership makes a lot of sense.”

I turned to Declan, expecting him to look smug. But his expression was unreadable. He looked focused, almost bored. He didn’t even glance at me. He just flipped through the long proposal I had written, making notes with his pen.

“Of course,” I said finally, my voice clipped. “Happy to collaborate.”

The meeting dragged on. I scribbled notes furiously just to keep from looking at him. When it ended, I practically sprinted out until I heard his voice behind me.

“Willow.”

I turned. “Yes?”

“I’ll send over a revised stakeholder mapping by tomorrow. I think there are a few overlaps we can clean up.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Silence.

He looked at me for a moment. “You okay with this?”

“With what?”

“Working together.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

His jaw tightened. “Right.”

He turned and walked away.

Later that afternoon, I sat at my desk, trying to focus on a funding report. But my brain kept circling the same loop. Why did he agree to this?

He had all the power to say no. Every person on the team was hungry to work with him. I saw how his office was always flacked by interns and managers alike, looking for his approval. I knew the company was giving him double my yearly salary for these three months. He could work on literally anything he wanted to.

We had barely spoken beyond necessity since he came back. I’d tried to be normal, asked about his parents, about Vancouver, about the conferences he’d been to. He answered like I was a stranger.

And now we were supposed to co-lead a project together?

Fantastic.

Around 5 PM, I walked into the kitchenette to get coffee and found him already there. He was pouring hot water over a tea bag, brows furrowed like even the act of steeping herbs annoyed him.

“Don’t remember you liking green tea,” I said lightly. “Are you one of those people, now?”

“I’m not,” he said. “It’s mint.”

“Still a personality plot twist.” I said, “You used to like chamomile.”

He didn’t laugh. He just looked at me, tired, blank. “People change.”

“You okay?” I asked before I could stop myself. “You’ve been kind of… stiff today.”

“Just focused.”

“Right.”

We stood there in silence, the hum of the fridge filling the space between us.

I fiddled with my mug. “I, uh… saw your TEDx talk.”

His eyes flicked to mine. “Why?”

“I was curious.”

He nodded, no reaction. “That was a while ago.”

“You were good.”

Silence.

I exhaled. “You don’t have to be like this, you know. Cold. I’m trying here.”

“I know.”

“Then maybe meet me halfway?”

He didn’t respond. He just reached for his mug.

“Well,” I sighed, defeated, “I’ll see you in the conference room.”

The conference room was stifling, even with the AC humming. I sat across from Declan, separated by a glass carafe of lukewarm water and three open laptops.

We were halfway through our first stakeholder meeting, and I was trying very hard not to sigh audibly every time he spoke.

“...but if we rework the outreach timeline,” Declan was saying, tapping the printout gently, “we can align the survey phase with the school’s midterm break. We’ll get better youth participation that way.”

The community rep from Ward 11 nodded. “That makes sense.”

It did. Of course it did. He was always like this. So logical, so prepared, annoyingly reasonable.

I forced a smile. “I still think we should prioritize the NGO partners first. They're already embedded in these neighborhoods. That’s a more reliable entry point.”

Declan didn’t flinch. He just turned toward me, pen poised. “Sure. But if we delay the youth surveys too much, we risk losing momentum. How about we initiate NGO meetings in Week 2, but run a parallel prep for school outreach? Soft entry, no surveys until break.”

The group murmured in agreement.

I nodded, lips tight. “Fine.”

He gave a small, polite smile. No smugness. Just... calm. Like I hadn’t just tried to sideline his entire plan.

And that was how it went.

Through the hour, we coordinated schedules, mapped timelines, and shared documents. Our exchanges were clipped and professional. He addressed me like I was a colleague he barely knew. I responded like I didn’t care.

But Declan, while guarded, was never cruel. I hadn’t expected him to be.

He didn’t take jabs. He didn’t condescend. He didn’t even raise his voice when I pushed back so many times in the meeting. He just... adjusted. Suggested improvements. Quietly built better versions of my half-formed ideas and offered them back without a trace of condescendence.

It was maddening.

Declan spoke near the end. “Also, I just want to highlight that the engagement structure came from Miss Whitefield. It’s one of the most thoughtful models I’ve seen for this context. Simple, but rooted in community dynamics.”

There was a pause.

Then the program director from HQ nodded. “That’s impressive, Willow. Well done.”

I blinked. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

When the meeting ended, I lingered by my laptop, pretending to file notes while the screen blurred.

I wasn’t used to praise from Declan. Not since before.

Not since he used to whisper things like you see the world better than anyone I know while we lay tangled in his bedsheets.

Now he was giving me credit for a project he had improved ten times over.

But somehow, that felt just as intimate.

Just as dangerous.

And just like that, something inside me chipped.

I opened up my phone and texted Jacob that I loved him. I did. I did.