Page 46 of Love so Cold

"I took your concerns to heart," I continue, watching her expression for any signs of approval or censure. "We're adjusting the plans to preserve more green spaces, incorporate local businesses, and scale back on any design that doesn't fit with the town's aesthetic."

Her eyebrows raise slightly. "Really? That's... unexpected." There's a cautious optimism in her voice that makes me want to lean in, to assure her further.

"Believe me, I want this project to enhance the community, not overrun it," I admit, feeling a vulnerability I haven't experienced in years. "Your town's character is unique; it would be a shame to lose that."

"Wow, Victor," she says, her eyes searching mine. "It sounds like you've put some real thought into this."

"More than you know," I murmur, just as Betty reappears with our coffees.

I drum my fingers on the laminated menu, feeling her eyes on me. "Everything seems solid, Victor," Avery finally says, folding her hands on the table, "but the heart of the issue remains—your development could changethe fabric of this town. Property taxes might skyrocket, and people... people like me could be priced out."

She's right, of course. I've thought about it late at night when the city lights can't chase away the doubts. "Avery, I won't lie to you. The market dictates those things. It's not something I can promise to control." My voice is steady, but inside, there's a twinge of helplessness.

Her lips tighten, and she nods, more to herself than to me. "I figured as much. But it doesn't ease the worry."

Our silence hangs heavy, filled only by the clatter of dishes from a nearby table. It's broken when a plate of steaming eggs and bacon slides in front of me, followed by her stack of pancakes, courtesy of Betty's efficient service.

"Thanks," we mumble, almost in unison.

As I cut into my food, Avery leans back, her fork idly pushing a blueberry around. "So, tell me about the hockey team. Why sponsor them? You're obviously good on the ice—saw you skate. You told Olivia you learned as a kid?"

She's caught me off guard, the subject shift subtle but pointed. I take a sip of coffee, buying time. "A friend of mine when I was a kid had a pond and played hockey. That's where I learned." I keep it matter-of-fact; old memories don't deserve new emotions.

"As you said," she replies, eyeing me with a new kind of interest. "But it feels like there's more to the story."

I just look down at my plate, not sure how to answer

her.

"And now you're sponsoring the local team. Is it just good PR, or do you actually enjoy it?"

"I'm not going to lie to you. At first, it was just for the PR. I actually fought the idea of the sponsorship with my team because," I pause, "because it stirred up old memories too much."

"But now?"

A corner of my mouth lifts involuntarily. "I enjoy it. The memories aren't as haunting as I thought they'd be. It reminds me... of simpler times, I guess." The words feel foreign coming out, but they hang between us, sincere and unexpectedly warm.

I poke at the eggs on my plate, their yellow centers now blending with the crisp strips of bacon. I can tell she wants to know more about my past. In the same way that I want to know more about hers. I'm not used to this—being probed for more than surface-level niceties. It feels like standing on thin ice, unsure if it'll crack beneath my feet and plunge me into icy waters of vulnerability.

"Look," I start, pausing to muster the courage that's always armored me in boardrooms but seems to falter here under the soft buzz of the diner's fluorescent lights. "I know how I come across."

"Like you've got everything figured out and you know best?" Her tone isn't mocking; there's genuinecuriosity there, mixed with something softer, gentler even.

"Something like that." I chuckle, but it's hollow. "Truth is, I put on a good show. But there's... there's stuff underneath all that." My hand grips the fork tighter, knuckles whitening.

"Stuff?" She prompts, her pancake forgotten, and now she's leaning forward, elbows on the table, all attention on me.

"Personal stuff. History." The admission tastes bitter, like I'm swallowing back years of built-up walls, brick by brick tumbling down with each word.

"Everyone's got history, Victor." Her eyes lock onto mine, and there's no judgment there, just an open road inviting me to travel further.

"Yeah," I say, looking down at my half-eaten breakfast. "Mine's just not the rags-to-riches fairytale everyone loves to hear."

"Does it have to be a fairytale?" Her voice is soft, coaxing secrets from a place inside me I usually keep locked tight.

"No, I guess not." I take a deep breath and finally meet her gaze again. "There's more to my story, Avery. More than the ice-cold businessman front everyone sees." And just like that, the words are out, hanging in the air between us, delicate and dangerous.

Chapter Twenty-Three

---