Page 18 of Outspoken Hearts
"As James mentioned, we wanted a visual identity capturing Meadowbrook's rich history and vibrant present..." I begin shakily.
James moves closer, offering silent support. This settles me, and I continue more confidently.
When I finish, he nods. "That was perfect."
"Really? I felt shaky."
"A little, but you recovered beautifully. Once you discussed design elements, your passion took over. That's what will connect tomorrow."
"I hope so." I set my notes down, suddenly aware of how close we're standing. "What if they hate it?"
"They won't." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek. "But even if someone does, it doesn't diminish the quality of your work or your ideas."
His confidence in me is both exhilarating and terrifying. No one has ever believed in me this completely, this unconditionally. It makes me want to live up to his vision of me.
"When did you get so wise?" I ask, leaning slightly into his touch.
"I'm not wise." His smile turns self-deprecating. "I've just made enough mistakes to learn a few things along the way."
"Like what?"
"Like..." He hesitates, his expression growing more serious. "Like how easy it is to lose yourself in other people's expectations. How lonely it gets at the top of the pedestal everyone puts you on."
The vulnerability in his admission touches something deep within me. "Is that why you never married? Too hard to find someone who sees past the perfect James Adams?"
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Too personal, too soon. But James doesn't pull away.
"Partly," he admits. "I dated someone seriously about five years ago. Amanda. She loved the idea of being with the town's golden boy, loved the status it gave her. But whenever I showed cracks in the facade—whenever I admitted doubt or fear or just plain exhaustion—she'd get uncomfortable."
"What happened?"
"I proposed anyway." His laugh holds no humor. "Convinced myself it was just nerves making me doubt things. That I was expecting too much, wanting someone who could handle all sides of me."
My heart aches for him. "What changed?"
"I overheard her talking to her sister at our engagement party. She said she wished I was 'more fun, less intense about everything.' That being with me sometimes felt like 'dating amotivational poster.'" He shakes his head at the memory. "I ended it the next day."
"I'm sorry." I place my hand on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath my palm. "She didn't deserve you."
"It was for the best. But it made me wary of letting anyone close." His eyes meet mine, honest and unguarded. "Until you."
"Me?" I can't keep the wonder from my voice. "What's so special about me?"
"You mean besides your brilliant mind, your incredible talent, and the way you call me on my bullshit?" His smile returns, warming his eyes. "You see me, Eva. The real me. And you're not disappointed by what you find."
"How could anyone be disappointed by you?" I ask softly.
"You'd be surprised." He covers my hand with his own, holding it against his heart. "That's why this scares me a little. You matter. What you think of me matters."
The admission hangs between us, raw and honest. In that moment, I understand that James Adams—respected, admired, seemingly perfect James Adams—is just as afraid of rejection as I am. Just as worried about being too much or not enough.
"Well," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, "what I think is that you're extraordinary. Not because you're perfect, but because you're real. Because you try so hard, care so deeply, give so much of yourself to everyone around you."
His expression softens with something like wonder. "Eva Miller, has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?"
"Only when they matter." I rise on tiptoe, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Only when they're true."
He wraps his arms around me, drawing me closer. This kiss is different from our first. It's deeper, more certain, with an edge of hunger that makes my head spin. I melt against him, my hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.
