Page 68 of Love so Cold

The wind picks up, carrying with it a chill that seems to settle between us. Silence hangs heavy, filled with unsaid words and regrets.

"Look, I know you didn't mean any harm when you stopped coaching. And I'm glad the kids are happy you're back, but—" She pauses, biting her lip, and then continues, "Your leaving without any explanation, I told you before at the arena. That's just... I can't get over it. I won't put myself—or Olivia—through that kind of pain again."

I swallow hard, feeling the sting of her words. It's fair, all of it. And yet, it guts me because I've lived that story, too. Left behind by those who were supposed to care.

A lump forms in my throat, and I can't help but feel this pang of sadness that's almost too familiar. "I wish there was something I could say... something to changeyour mind," I mutter, feeling the weight of our shared helplessness.

Avery looks at me, her eyes a mixture of resolve and regret. "Part of me wishes you could," she admits softly. "But you're here for your development project. That's not something we can just ignore—it's going to change everything."

Before I can respond, she steps closer, her breath warm against my skin as she plants a soft kiss on my cheek. It's a fleeting touch, one that leaves a tingling sensation long after she pulls away. "Thank you for coming, Victor. I'll see you tonight," she says, her voice carrying a note of finality that tells me this chapter is closing, whether I'm ready for it or not.

"See you," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

With a heaviness settling in my chest, I head towards the door. But something makes me stop, turn back, and my eyes catch the unfinished mosaic once again. The pieces lay scattered, a puzzle waiting to be solved, much like the complicated mess of our own situation.

"You should finish this," I tell Avery, nodding toward the artwork. "It'll be beautiful... everything you wanted." There's a hope in my voice that feels out of place, yet I cling to it.

"Maybe," she says with a small, uncertain smile.

I leave the house, the door clicking shut behind me, sealing off the warmth of Avery's home from thecrisp outside air. As I slide into the car, Marcus is quick to pick up on the unsettled energy radiating off me.

"How'd it go?" he asks, his gaze flicking over me in the rearview mirror.

"I'm worried," I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "Worried I'm about to do something really stupid... something that's going to piss off a lot of investors."

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Avery

The cool metalof the clipboard presses against my palms as I push through the heavy doors of the town hall. My fingers are white-knuckled around it. There's a ballet of butterflies doing their thing in my stomach, and I'm trying to dance along with them instead of letting the nerves get the better of me.

"Hey Avery!" Mrs. Peterson waves from her seat, her silver hair catching the dim light. I muster up a smile that feels too tight on my face and nod at her, walking down the aisle between the rows of chairs.

"Thanks for coming out," I say, voice sounding too high in my ears.

"Wouldn't miss it, dear," she replies, sitting down inthe back. I smile but I keep moving, taking a seat closer to the front where I can keep an eye on everything. And everyone.

I plop down, the clipboard on my lap now, but it’s like a phantom limb – I can still feel its weight in my hands. The ghost of Victor's visit earlier races through my mind, the way his gaze lingered on my half-finished mosaic. His eyes had been soft then, encouraging even, and it stirs something warm inside me that clashes with the cold front I've put up against him.

It was more than just his words; it was his belief in encouraging me to finish it. And damn it, I hate how that makes me feel. He's supposed to be the enemy, Mr. Big Bad Developer, not someone who gets why art matters to me.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memory. But it's stubborn, clinging like ivy. The truth nags at me; in another world, one where he wasn’t threatening my home, maybe there could have been something... more. A shared look over coffee that didn’t end with arguments about community and heritage. Laughter that wasn’t strained or tinged with bitterness.

"Focus, Avery," I whisper under my breath, tapping the clipboard against my knee. This is about the neighborhood, about Olivia's future, not about whatever confusing vibe Victor Stone gives off. I need to remember that, even if he did show a sliver of humanitytoday.

"Good luck," someone murmurs from behind, and I give a grateful, albeit distracted, nod. Yeah, luck. That's what I need right now. Luck and a miracle to stop Greystone Development from tearing through our lives.

"Thanks," I manage to say, without looking back. "We're going to need it." This is bigger than me, bigger than him. Yet there's this nagging thought, a whisper in my mind about mosaics and missed chances that won't quiet down.

The door to the town hall swings open with a subdued creak, and he strides in. Dark hair, blue eyes like chips of ice – Victor's all business as he makes his way through the crowd. He's a wall of tailored suit and determination, surrounded by a few investors hanging on his shoulder.

I can't help it; I'm locked onto him, trying to decipher what's going on behind that unfathomable poker face of his. But no dice. He’s an enigma wrapped in a riddle, and I'm just the girl with a clipboard who's hoping to save her neighborhood. He doesn’t glance my way, not even a flicker, and I feel deflated, invisible almost, though I know I shouldn't care.

"Order! Order!" The chairman's gavel slams down, jolting me out of my thoughts. The hall falls into a respectful hush, the heavy air charged with anticipation.

"Let's get through the first items quickly," the chairman declares. Like clockwork, minor community issues are ticked off the list – a new crosswalkhere, a fundraiser there. It's all a blur, and I barely register any of it.

"Alright, folks," the chairman finally booms, "let's move onto the main event – the proposed Greystone Development."

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