Adrian arrived at the community hall well before the scheduled meeting. The winter light drifted in through the tall windows, casting a soft gold hue on the wooden floors. Snow crunched under his boots as he crossed the empty hall, carrying his notes and the volunteer sheets.
He paused, scanning the list. There it was, Isla Hayes.
He straightened, adjusting his tie, trying to quell the sudden warmth in his chest. Composure, Adrian You're the chairman here. Keep it together.
Around him, the chairs were stacked along the walls, and tables were littered with flyers, binders, and the faint aroma of coffee and pastries. Volunteers trickled in by doves, chatting lightly, some hugging the familiar faces of the committee members.
"Morning, Adrian!" called Marcie, a warm-hearted volunteer with an eye for detail. She was bustling toward him with a clipboard in hand. "Everything ready for tonight?"
"Almost," he replied smoothly, glancing at his notes. "We'll go through the volunteer schedule in detail once everyone arrives."
Across the table, Simon, a stickler for deadlines and the town's unofficial festival historian, adjusted his glasses and muttered, "I hope we don't have last-minute surprises this year. We still have three stalls available without confirmed leads."
"I'll handle that," Adrian assured, scanning the sheets again. His eyes flicked to the volunteer list and there it was again, Isla Hayes. He had to remind himself to breathe.
A few minutes passed with the committee exchanging updates, suggestions, and gentle corrections. Laughter rippled occasionally as Peter, the resident jokester dished out side remarks. Adrian nodded politely, jotting notes. Then he saw her entering the hall, Isla Hayes.
She stepped in just past the last few volunteers, coat cinched at the waist, scarf draped loosely around her neck, hair catching the light in subtle waves. Her gaze swept the room, scanning their faces briefly before settling on the agenda table.
Adrian's pulse quickened. He straightened, forcing a calm exterior as if nothing had happened. Keeping his composure, God forbid she knew the effect and hold she still had on him. She did not deserve it, he muttered under his breath.
She approached quietly, clipboard in hand, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Sorry I'm late," her voice was polite, professional, yet carrying a softness that hit him harder than any other person in the room.
"You're right on time for the discussion, Isla," Adrian replied smoothly, gesturing toward the table. Smooth, like that, don't flinch, he told himself.
Other committee members exchanged greetings, a few nods and smiles, but Adrian noticed that no one else seemed to sense the current crackling under the surface, the history, the unspoken tension between him and Isla.
As she set her clipboard down, he couldn't resist the quick, measured glance again. Her hands were steady, precise, as if nothing could unsettle her. But the subtle curve of her lips, the glint in her eye, reminded him of countless mornings spent in her presence, moments he thought he'd never get back.
"Shall we start with the volunteer schedule?" Adrian said, projecting authority. His voice was calm, neutral but his thoughts betrayed him. Every second they spent in close proximity, was like the years dissolving, yet they both had to stay composed.
"Yes," she responded, calmly, and measured. "We'll need someone reliable for the early dessert stall shifts. My team can handle that, but we would need proper coordination with deliveries."
"Of course," Adrian replied, keeping his tone professional as well. Reliable, he thought, just like her,till she's not he reminded himself.
As they bent over the charts together, brushing shoulders occasionally while pointing to shifts, Adrian felt the familiar spark. Each small contact, the passing of a pen, the adjustment of a sticky note, stirred memories and desire he had kept buried.
"So," she said, tracing a line along the schedule, "the volunteer rotation for the tasting tents seems tight. Are you sure your team can manage it?"
"Yes," he replied, almost too quickly, almost defensively. "We've expanded the bar this year, and added new tasting stations. It'll be engaging."
She looked up, eyes glinting. "Engaging? that's a diplomatic and mild way to say "exhausting."
He smirked. "I try to stay optimistic."
Of course, he had expanded, it did not come as a surprise to her, she always knew he was rooted, grounded, and would excel at the family business. Around them, other members contributed. Marcie suggested extra shifts for high traffic hours, Simon flagged missing supplies. The room was alive with discussion, yet the space immediately around Adrian and Isla seemed charged. Words exchanged politely, every glance, every subtle motion carried more than surface meaning.
"Your bakery's reputation precedes you," Adrian said casually, glancing down at her notes, not that she had anything to do with the bakery's success,he just did not like the uncomfortable silence.
"And your wine bar's notoriety isn't too shabby either," she countered, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I trust the tasting stations will meet expectations."
"Only if I get competent volunteers," he replied, letting a touch of edge enter his voice.
She raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I'll be watching closely."
Even in public, they were measuring each other, balancing courteous replies with something deeper, something neither wanted to acknowledge aloud to each other yet.
Minutes ticked by, they coordinated volunteers, discussed deliveries, and aligned stall duties. Each polite exchange masked undercurrents of familiarity and unspoken questions: Why did she leave? Why return now?
Finally, Adrian brought the meeting to an end with a vote of thanks. "Thank you all. Next week, we'll reconvene with final confirmations and updates."
Isla began gathering her papers, sliding her clipboard under her arm. Their eyes met for a fleeting second, long enough for the silent acknowledgment of years past, of tension unspoken, of attraction restrained.
"See you tomorrow, Adrian," she said softly.
"Looking forward to it," he replied, voice steady, though his pulse raced. After all she was the co-chair and a different task had been assigned to them during the meeting.
As she moved toward the door, Adrian"s gaze followed her every step casually. He watched the gentle sway of her coat, the purposeful grace in her movements, the way she glanced once at the snow outside, then back at the room. She was calm, composed, seemingly untouched by the tension he felt so keenly, and disappeared into the night.
There was no way he could have gotten out of the final note on the schedule,which was laid on them, a shared assignment requiring close collaboration. He swallowed hard. Proximity would force them to interact, to navigate politeness, duties, and the emotions that were brimming below the surface.
As the room emptied gradually, volunteers drifted away, chatting about holiday plans and stall decorations. Adrian lingered, packing his notes, the hall was warm, winter night pressing cold and silent against the windows, yet inside him, a storm churned.
He exhaled slowly, a mixture of anticipation and dread curling in his chest. He had survived the years apart, but now, in the space of a single meeting, everything he thought he'd buried was about to be unearthed.
And the game was only just beginning.