Page 17 of Outspoken Hearts
"Your courage to say what everyone else was thinking but afraid to voice." He pulls back slightly to look at me. "Your refusal to just go along with the expected."
"I was terrified you'd think I was being difficult."
"I thought you were brilliant." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "Still do."
The tenderness in his touch and gaze makes my chest ache sweetly, stirring that familiar anxiety when something feels too right.
"James, I..." I hesitate. "I'm not good at relationships. I always end up being too much."
"What if that's exactly what I want? Someone who doesn't hold back, who challenges me."
"You say that now, but?—"
"Eva." He takes my face gently. "I've spent my life being strong for everyone else. Do you know how rare it is finding someone who makes me feel I don't have to be? Someone who sees beneath the facade?"
His vulnerability disarms me. This admired pillar of the community feels safe with me. That my "too muchness" is exactly what he needs.
"I'm scared," I admit. "This feels important. And things that feel important have a way of disappearing on me."
"I'm not going anywhere." He kisses me again, softly. "But we can take this slow. Figure it out together."
"Together," I repeat, letting myself believe it might be possible. "I'd like that."
The wind picks up, sending a shower of golden leaves swirling around us. One lands in James's hair, and I reach up to brush it away, marveling at the simple intimacy of the gesture.
"We should probably get back to the presentation," I say reluctantly.
"Probably." But neither of us moves, unwilling to break the moment.
Finally, James stands, offering his hand. "Come on. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can talk about what happens after tomorrow's breakfast."
"After?" I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet.
"Our first real date." He smiles, and it's different from his public smile. It's softer, more genuine, a little uncertain. "If you want that."
"I do." I squeeze his hand. "I definitely do."
As we walk back toward the house, his hand still holding mine, I can't help but wonder if this is really happening. If James Adams—perfect, polished James Adams—really sees me, accepts me, wants me exactly as I am.
It seems too good to be true. And in my experience, things that seem too good to be true usually are.
But as he turns to me at the door, catching me in another brief kiss before we step inside, I allow myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.
Maybe this time, I won't be too much.
Maybe this time, I'll be exactly enough.
Back at the table, we try refocusing on the presentation, but a new energy flows between us—stolen glances, "accidental" finger brushes, smiles unrelated to town branding.
"We should practice delivery," James suggests, standing. "I'll introduce, then hand over to you for design rationale."
"Okay." I nod, trying to be professional despite feeling his lips on mine. "I'll pull up slides."
When James begins, his natural command impresses me. His voice clear, pacing perfect, gestures deliberate yet natural. He makes complex ideas accessible without simplifying too much.
At transition, he turns with an encouraging smile. "And now, Eva Miller will walk you through our design concept."
I stand, clutching notes tightly. Despite our new feelings, public speaking anxiety flutters in my stomach.
