Something shifts in Declan’s expression. “The Meridian? That’s the Spanish Colonial Revival building with the courtyard gardens?”
“You know it?”
“I know of it. It’s actually on the National Register of Historic Places. Beautiful restoration work.” His voice carries genuine appreciation. “Your apartment is in a historic building?”
“Third floor, overlooking the courtyard.” I’m surprised by his knowledge of the building’s history. “Most people just see it as old apartments.”
“Most people don’t understand that old doesn’t mean outdated. Sometimes it means carefully preserved.” His gaze grows more intense. “Sometimes the things worth saving are the ones with the most history.”
The way he says it makes me wonder if we’re still talking about buildings.
“Maya,” Declan says quietly, “what are we really doing here? Because sitting in this coffee shop, holding your hand, talking about everything except Highland’s presentation—this doesn’t feel like professional collaboration.”
“No,” I agree, though I don’t pull my hand away. “It doesn’t.”
“So what is it?”
I study Declan’s face, noting the way the late-afternoon light catches in his eyes, the careful way he’s waiting for my response.
“I think it’s us trying to figure out if what happened this morning was a mistake or the beginning of something we can’t ignore anymore.”
“And what’s your verdict?”
I’m quiet for a moment, acutely aware of his thumb still tracing gentle patterns across my skin. “I think we’re both in trouble.”
“Good trouble or bad trouble?”
“I don’t know yet.” I finally pull my hand away, needing space to think clearly. “Declan, Highland’s presentation is in one week. Everything I’ve worked for, everything my father built, depends on convincing your board that preservation makes business sense.”
“I know.”
“And you’re telling me your judgment is compromised because of personal feelings for me.”
“I’m telling you I’ll advocate for Highland regardless of those feelings. But yes, my objectivity where you’re concerned is questionable at best.”
I lean back in my chair, trying to process the implications. “This is complicated.”
“Very complicated.” Declan finishes his espresso. “But Maya, complicated doesn’t mean impossible. It just means we need to be careful.”
“Careful how?”
“Honest with each other about what we want. Clear about priorities. Highland comes first—we both agree on that. But after Highland’s future is decided...”
“After Highland’s future is decided, what?”
“After Highland’s future is decided, maybe we can figure out what this is between us without the pressure of professional obligations.”
The suggestion is reasonable, logical, exactly what we should do. But sitting in this coffee shop, watching the way he looks at me, I realize that waiting might be easier said than done.
“I should go,” I say, gathering my bag. “I have a lot of work to do before Monday’s presentation.”
“Of course.” Declan stands as I do, pulling out his wallet. “Maya?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for being honest with me. About Highland, about this morning, about all of it.”
“Thank you for advocating for Highland even when it complicates your life.”
