I stared at my reflection in the mirror, adjusting the collar of my shirt. It was Saturday, and I usually spent weekends catching up on sleep or reading something that had nothing to do with work. But today, I had a meeting with Aidan.
Not in the office. Not for a press event.
A private tour of a community center his company was planning to support.
I kept telling myself it was work. Just work.
But the tight knot in my stomach told me otherwise—and I hated it.
I tied my hair back, applied a little lipstick, and reminded myself who I was: Sophie Navarro. Professional. Focused. Not the type to get caught up in distractions.
And definitely not with Aidan Blackthorne. Why does it even bother me so much? Argh, I hate him!
I grabbed my bag and headed out the door, the city buzzing around me as I made my way to the community center. The drive wasn't far—a quiet part of town I didn't visit often. The streets grew calmer the closer I got, the noise fading into distant hums and chirping birds.
When I pulled up, the small brick building came into view. I took a deep breath, trying to push down the mix of frustration and unease stirring inside me. Then I stepped out of the car and walked toward the entrance.
The community center sat in a quiet neighborhood in the south part of the city. It was a small brick building with colorful murals and a playground in the back. Aidan was already there when I arrived, and he was talking to one of the volunteers.
He looked up when he saw me and smiled.
"Right on time." He said, when he reached where I was standing.
"I always am," I replied while smoothing my blazer.
"You look nice," he added casually.
"Let's stay focused," I seriously said to hide my fluttered heart.
He led me inside. A kind woman named Trina gave us a tour, showing off the classrooms, the art studio, and the small library. We talked about upcoming renovations, funding issues, and what the center needed most.
Aidan listened closely. He asked questions. He even took notes.
I watched him from the side, surprised again by how real he seemed in moments like this. No cameras. No charming act. Just a man trying to help —but also a man I wasn't interested in getting distracted by.
After the tour, we sat outside on a bench beneath the trees. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, casting soft, dappled shadows across the yard. The air was warm, with a quiet breeze that carried the scent of cut grass and chalk from the playground. A group of kids ran by, chasing each other with wild energy, their laughter rising and falling like music in the background. Somewhere nearby, a volunteer called out reminders about snack time, and the clatter of plastic chairs echoed faintly from inside the building.
I sat with my hands folded tightly in my lap, my back straight, trying to stay composed. Aidan sat beside me, unbothered, elbows resting on his knees like he belonged there. Like this wasn't unusual for him.
I hated how natural he made it look—like caring didn't cost him anything.
I glanced at him from the side, trying to read his expression. There was no smirk, no smugness. Just a calm look, thoughtful and strangely... quiet.
I looked away.
This was supposed to be a simple visit. A photo op. A few talking points. Not this.
Not him, being real.
And not me, noticing it.
"You surprised me today," I said finally, unable to hide the edge in my voice.
"How so?"
"You were… thoughtful. Focused. You listened."
He smiled faintly. "I meant what I said. I don't want this to be fake. If I'm changing, I want it to be for something real."
I nodded. "That's good. People will see it. They'll believe it."
There was a pause.
"And what about you?" he asked. "Do you believe it?"
I hesitated. I don't want him to know that I'm starting to believe it, so I didn't answer him.
I stood up quickly. "We should go over the speech for next week's fundraiser." I said, changing the topic.
He didn't argue, but his eyes didn't leave mine for a moment.
---
Later, in the parking area, things grew quiet again.
I scrolled through my notes, pretending to be busy. But I could feel him watching me.
Finally, he spoke. "You ever get tired of pretending?"
I looked up. "Pretending?"
"That you don't feel anything," he said softly. "That none of this affects you."
I froze. "This is my job, Aidan."
"I know. And you're amazing at it. But I see how hard you work to keep everything locked up. Like feeling something would be a mistake."
My hands tightened around my tablet. "Don't make this personal."
"Maybe it already is."
His voice was gentle, but it hit me hard.
---
The next few days passed with tension just below the surface—like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap at any moment.
On the outside, everything ran smoothly. Meetings were held, schedules were followed, emails were answered. We reviewed speeches, handled press inquiries, and confirmed every last detail for the fundraiser. From anyone else's perspective, it looked like nothing had changed.
But underneath it all, something had shifted.
Aidan was quieter around me, but his eyes lingered longer. His jokes were more careful, his words measured—like he was waiting for me to say something I wouldn't. And I kept my distance, professionally cold, focused, determined to stay one step ahead of whatever was building between us.
The silence between us wasn't empty—it was loaded. One thing I didn't like is easily Aidan could see through me. No one else ever had. People saw the polished version — the woman in control. That's how I liked it.
But Aidan? He kept finding cracks in the armor.
One evening, as we wrapped up a meeting in his office, he looked at me for a long time before speaking.
"You know," he said, "I'm not trying to mess this up."
"What do you mean?"
"This job. This... whatever we are," he said, his voice quieter now. "I know you keep your distance. I get it. But I just want you to know — I respect what you do. And I respect you."
I didn't know what to say. No one had ever said that to me before — not like that.
"Thank you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He walked me to the elevator and both of us are quiet until the door opened and closed.
---
That night, I sat in my couch, the lights low, the city outside my window is glowing like a sea of stars.
I'd always believed that, "Love was a distraction." Something that got in the way of goals, dreams, purpose.