The affair began in earnest.
Three days of stolen moments. Three days of Nelson texting her late at night—Can't stop thinking about you. Three days of volunteering at the centre, brushing past him in hallways, feeling the electricity every time their eyes met across rooms full of oblivious people.
Three days of lying to her family.
"You seem happy," her mother said at breakfast Thursday morning, suspicion evident in her tone. "Almost glowing."
"I love the volunteer work," Ayana said, which wasn't technically a lie. "It's fulfilling."
"Mm." Her mother's eyes were sharp. "Nelson mentioned you've been very helpful. Said you have a natural gift with the children."
Ayana's heart stuttered. "He said that?"
"Yesterday, when your father stopped by the center. He was quite complimentary." Her mother sipped her coffee. "Your father's pleased you two are getting along. He always hoped you'd see Nelson as a mentor figure."
Mentor. Right. Because that's exactly what they were doing in his office after hours.
Catherine kicked her under the table, fighting a smile.
"I should get going," Ayana said, standing quickly. "Tutoring starts at three."
"Wait." Her mother's voice stopped her. "There's a community dinner Saturday night. Fundraiser for the centre. The whole family's expected to attend. You'll need to wear something appropriate."
It was her telleing Ayana not to embarrass them.
"Of course, Mom."
She escaped before more questions could land.
---
The centre buzzed with afternoon energy. Ayana worked with her assigned students, but her attention kept drifting to Nelson's office. He was in meetings all afternoon—budget reviews with the board and grant discussions with city officials. She caught glimpses of him through his office window, looking exhausted and professional and heartbreakingly distant.
At five, the centre emptied. Volunteers left. Kids headed home. Dr. Hayes stopped by Ayana's table.
"Good work today," he said kindly. "Marcus is lucky to have you here."
"Marcus?" She looked up, confused.
"The student you were tutoring. Marcus Johnson. Bright kid, struggling reader. You got him through two chapters today—that's more than anyone's managed in weeks." Dr. Hayes smiled. "You're good at this, Ayana. It's really good. Have you thought about staying? We could use someone with your skills on staff."
Her heart jumped. "Stay in Millbrook?"
"The centre has an opening. Youth program coordinator. Entry level, but good experience. Good work." His eyes were knowing. "And some reasons to stay are worth more than money."
He left before she could respond.
Stay in Millbrook. Work with Nelson every day. Build something real instead of running back to Boston.
The idea terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.
"He's not wrong."
She spun. Nelson stood in his office doorway, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, exhaustion written in every line of his body. But his eyes; his eyes were warm when they looked at her.
"About what?" she asked.
"You're good at this. The kids respond to you. You're patient, encouraging, never condescending." He stepped closer, lowered his voice. "You could do real good here, Ayana. If you wanted to stay."
"Is that what you want? Me to stay?"
"Yes." The answer was immediate, honest. "God help me, yes. But not if it means giving up opportunities elsewhere. Not if—"
"What if I want to stay?" She stood, moved toward him. Stopped just close enough for propriety, just far enough to maintain the illusion. "What if Boston feels empty compared to this?"
His jaw tightened. "Then we need to talk. Really talk. About what this is. What it means. Because Ayana, if you stay, if we keep doing this eventually people will find out. Your father will find out. And I need to know you understand what that means."
"I understand."
"Do you?" His voice dropped. "Do you understand that this town will blame you? Call you names? Your mother will be devastated. Your father will feel betrayed. The church will—"
"I don't care." She said it firmly. "I don't care what they think. I care about you. About this. About finally feeling alive instead of just existing."
Something in his expression softened. "You're so brave. Braver than I'll ever be."
"Then borrow my courage." She smiled. "We can face it together."
He glanced toward the windows—anyone could see them. But he reached out anyway, brushed his fingers against hers for just a moment. The touch was electric.
"My place," he said quietly. "Eight o'clock. I'll make dinner. We'll talk. Really talk about what happens next."
"Okay."
"Ayana." He caught her hand before she could leave. "If you're not sure; if any part of you thinks this is a mistake don't come. I'll understand."
She squeezed his fingers. "I'll be there."
---
At 7:45, she told her family she was meeting Sara for coffee. Catherine raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Her mother was too absorbed in planning Saturday's dinner to question it.
At 7:58, she pulled up to Nelson's house. Lights glowed in the windows. Through the glass, she could see him moving in the kitchen—cooking, setting the table, preparing for her arrival with careful attention.
Her heart swelled.
She knocked. He opened the door immediately, like he'd been waiting. Staring at her like he still couldn't believe she was real.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi." He stepped back. "Come in."
The house smelled like garlic and herbs. He'd made pasta—nothing fancy, but the effort was evident. Two place settings. Wine glasses. Candles.
"You cooked," she said, surprised.
"I wanted—" He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly uncertain. "I wanted this to be more than just... I wanted to do this right. Court you properly, even if we have to do it in secret."
Her throat tightened. "Nelson—"
"Let me finish." He took her coat and hung it carefully. "I've been thinking since Sunday. About what this is. What I want it to be. And Ayana, I don't want this to be just an affair. Just stolen moments and guilt and hiding. I want—" He stopped, vulnerable. "I want more. With you. If you'll have me."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'm falling in love with you. Maybe already have fallen. I'm saying that if you stay in Millbrook, I want to try to build something real. Something that might survive when the truth comes out." He moved closer. "I'm saying you deserve better than secret meetings and lies, but if that's all I can give you right now, I'll take it. Because losing you again would destroy me."
She closed the distance and cupped his face. "I love you too. I think I have since I was eighteen, even if I didn't understand it then. And yes—yes to staying. Yes, to building something. Yes, to all of it."
He kissed her like she'd given him absolution. Soft, reverent, full of promise. When he pulled back, his eyes were wet.
"Dinner first," he said hoarsely. "Then we can—we should—"
"Talk," she finished, smiling. "We should talk. Make plans. Figure out how to do this."
They ate at his small table, knees touching underneath, talking about everything. Her potential job at the centre. How long they could keep this secret. When and how to tell her father. The corruption he'd discovered—embezzlement by board member Thomas Garrett, church elder, and community pillar.
"I have proof," Nelson said quietly. "But if I expose it, the scandal could destroy the centre. Donors will pull funding. Programs will close. Kids will suffer."
"Or," Ayana countered, "you expose it, clean house, and rebuild stronger. With integrity."
"Easy to say. It's harder to do."
"Nothing about this is easy." She took his hand. "But doing the right thing rarely is."
They talked until midnight until words gave way to touches until they found themselves tangled on his couch, learning each other with hands and mouths and whispered promises.
This time was different from Sunday. Less desperate, more intentional. He took his time, made her gasp his name, and watched her come apart like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Afterwards, wrapped in his arms, she felt the truth settle in her bones: this was real. This was love. And whatever came next, they'd face it together.
"Stay tonight," he whispered against her hair.
"I can't. My family—"
"I know." He held her tighter. "But someday. Someday, you'll stay, and we won't have to hide, and I'll wake up with you in my arms without guilt or fear."
"Someday soon," she promised.
She left at one AM, both of them knowing that someday was coming faster than they were ready for.