She’s slow to look my way. Hesitant.

  But she finally does. And when our eyes connect, I feel the floor tilt beneath me.

  Her eyes are the same. Those golden irises full of all the emotion she tries to keep off her face.

  Her throat moves on a swallow.

  Then, for the first time in fifteen years, Hannah Utley speaks to me. “I got my degree from Winona State, sir.”

  Sir.

  The corner of my mouth twitches.

  “Did you go there all four years?” I goad her.

  Hannah lifts her chin the smallest amount. “No, I did my first two years at community college. Then I finished my degree with online classes.”

  “Why?”

  Dana clears her throat next to me, but I keep my gaze on Hannah.

  She glances away before replying. “My work schedule changed.”

  Her tone is clipped. Almost angry.

  Peter makes a sound of understanding. “Admirable that you stuck with it.”

  Hannah turns to Peter. Not just turning her head but shifting her whole body, giving me her shoulder. “Thank you. It was a lot at times but worth it.”

  I can see a sliver of the smile she gives him. And it makes me want to fire Peter.

  “Well,” Dana sighs. “We don’t need to keep you any longer. Thank you so much for coming up and talking to us.” She looks to me, then Peter. “Either of you have any more questions?”

  “Nope,” Peter answers first, and I can practically hear his smile.

  I have a thousand questions for Hannah.

  Why did you run away from me?

  Why did you drop out of HOP U to do online classes?

  Why are you looking at me like I’m the one who ghosted you?

  And most importantly, is it really Miss Utley?

  Instead of voicing any of them, I shake my head.

  Dana nods. “Alright, well, unless you have any questions for us, you’re free to head back downstairs.”

  Hannah pushes her chair back and stands. But before she turns away, she pauses. “Um, just… Can you tell me how long before you decide?”

  “Decide what?” Dana asks.

  Hannah glances at me, then looks back at my CEO. “If I get to keep my job?”

  Something invisible hits me in the center of my chest.

  Her hands are clutched in front of her stomach. And just like when they were on the table, her knuckles are white with tension. She’s squeezing her fingers so hard it must hurt.

  Is this why she’s acting so tense? Did she think I would fire her? Dismiss her from her position as punishment for walking out of my life fifteen years ago?

  “Oh,” Dana laughs. “You have nothing to worry about. We’re happy to have you on the team.”

  Hannah darts her eyes to me again. Waiting for… what? For me to say just kidding?

  I furrow my brow.

  Why is she acting like I’m the villain?

  “Thank you.” She smiles at us as a group. And it almost convinces me she’s not a heartbeat away from breaking down.

  She spins on her heels and strides out of the room. Those black pants cling to her ass like they’re getting paid to do it.

  When she disappears out the doorway, I push back from the table.

  “We have one more, Maddox,” Dana says.

  Something inside me slams against my rib cage at the thought of letting Hannah walk away from me again.

  “I’ll be right back.” I stand. “Bathroom.”

  I say it like a toddler who just learned how to use the toilet, but it doesn’t stop me from making my way around the table and out the door.

  Hannah isn’t in the hall outside the conference room, so I pick up my stride toward the front of the office. She can’t be on the elevator already.

  But when the front lobby comes into view, and I don’t see her anywhere, I slow.

  She’s gone.

  FOUR

  HANNAH

  The footsteps pass my hiding place — crouched inside one of the empty cubicles in the center of the floor — and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  It’s Maddox. I know it is.

  His steps slow, and I can hear the breath he heaves out.

  I keep my lips pressed together as his footsteps pass my hiding spot again, this time heading back toward the conference room.

  When I can’t hear him anymore, I wait another three seconds before standing and hurrying toward the elevators.

  I don’t turn around, don’t look back to see if he’s changed direction again.

  And as soon as the elevator doors open, I step inside.

  There’s one hour left before the end of the day. Just one more hour to get through.

  I press the button to select my floor, and the doors start to close.

  FIVE

  MADDOX

  I step forward out of the empty office.

  My movement causes Hannah to raise her eyes.

  They widen when they meet mine, then the elevator doors slip shut.

  That’s right, Little Bunny, you can run, but I’m going to chase.

  SIX

  HANNAH

  I use my hip to shut the car door since my hands are full of drinks, then make my way around the back bumper to the little brick walkway leading to the front of my house.

  It’d be nice to park in the garage, but Mom’s car takes up the one and only spot. Which I’ve insisted on since I’d feel like a real asshole making her scrape snow off her windshield in the winter.

  Having a two-car garage would be glorious, but this cozy little hundred-year-old house has been our home for the last decade, and that’s not changing anytime soon.

  I shift the drink carrier into one hand and use the other to unlock the front door.

  The entryway is really just a space big enough to pile shoes under the bench and hang coats on the hooks above it. Then the house opens into a living room on the right and a dining room on the left, which leads into a small but well-loved kitchen.

  Open concepts were not all the rage back when this bad boy was designed.

  I set the drinks on the bench and tug my ankle boots off, then peel my suit jacket from my body. It’s a warm July day outside, but most of my current sweaty situation is due to stress.

  Voices come from the kitchen, so I pick the drinks back up and head that way.

  There are days I wish I lived alone. And on the drive home, I was feeling like today was one of those days. But now that I’m here, I’m glad I don’t.

  When I step through the archway into the kitchen, Mom and Chelsea stop talking and look up. Both wrist deep in red sauce, cheese, and noodles.

  “Nothing says summer like baking a lasagna.” I laugh.

  “We can always freeze it if you have something better in mind.” Mom gives me a look of innocence, knowing damn well it’s one of my favorite meals.

  “You wouldn’t dare.” I narrow my eyes.

  Mom grins. “We all know pasta is worth the sacrifice of a few degrees.”

  “True,” I agree, even though the kitchen will jump a solid fifteen degrees with the oven going. “Well, get to layering so you guys can join me in a predinner drink.”

  “Frozen hot chocolate with whipped marshmallow?” our resident twelve-year-old asks.

  “Duh,” I reply.

  There’s a small island on wheels in the center of the room, which is where the assembly is taking place, and I set the carrier down on the corner, hopefully out of the splash zone.

  Mom eyes them. “That an iced chai for me?”

  I prop a hand on my hip. “I’m about to get offended by these questions.”

  I pick up the third beverage and take a drink of my iced matcha latte.

  “So,” Mom starts, “getting us all BeanBag Coffee on the way home means that the interview either went really well or…”

  I take another pull of the frothy goodness while I decide how to answer.

  “Uh-oh.” Chelsea makes a face at Mom as she lays another wide strip of pasta in the pan.

  “It was fine,” I say before they can start with their theories. “I still have my job. Nothing is changing.”

  “And you’re not happy about that because…?” Mom raises a brow at me.

  If I could, I would play it all off. I’d tell them nothing. Pretend nothing was amiss. And go on with life as usual.

  But I’m not good at pretending. I can fake it for an interview. Or a brief interaction. But I can’t pull it off long term. And I’d rather be honest now than have it all come out later.

  They’re both staring at me.

  “I know the owner. And —” I stop there.

  And what? I don’t hate him. Not really. I don’t even know him. Not anymore. Plus, there’s no reason to believe he’ll even be in the office that much.

  Or… will he?

  Dammit, I should have asked around. Figured out if he’s the type of owner who actually works at the company or if he just shows up every once in a while to check on his investment.

  He wasn’t interacting in the interview before Peter said my last name, but maybe he was dealing with something important on his phone.

  Or maybe he was being a dick.

  How am I supposed to know?

  “Uh, Grandma. I think someone needs to reset Aunt Hannah.”

  “Maybe we should add a little extra cheese to the top layer,” Mom replies. “That might help.”

  I snort. “You two are ridiculous.”

  “And you’re glitching like a robot in a rainstorm,” Chelsea retorts.

  “I think I preferred you as a baby who couldn’t talk back.”

  She laughs. “No way. Babies are gross.”

  I have to nod my agreement, because they kinda are.

  And to be fair, when Chelsea came to live with us, she was already two, so more a toddler than an infant.

  “Oh, stop it.” Mom clicks her tongue. “Babies are adorable. And if your Aunt Hannah ever left the house for something other than work, then maybe she could meet a man and have a baby of her own.”

  “Mom,” I groan.

  “I’m just saying.” She points to the bag of shredded mozzarella. “Now tell us what happened while you dump that on top of here.”

  Picking it up by the corners — because I don’t trust that they haven’t grabbed it with their messy hands — I shake the rest of the cheese on top of the lasagna.

  When I set the bag down, they’re both staring at me again.

  “You ready to tell us how you know this new owner?” Mom asks.

  I puff out my cheeks. “He’s just a guy I used to know back in college. I didn’t realize he was in the industry, so I wasn’t expecting to see him sitting in on the interview. It caught me off guard, is all.” There, the truth without too much information.

  “Guy from college?” Mom narrows her eyes.

  Chelsea wiggles her eyebrows. “Did you date him? Is he like an ex-boyfriend or something?”

  The tween is too clever for her own good.

  Mom’s eyes widen. “Hannah,” she gasps. “Is it… you know… the football player?”

  I let out a loud groan as I pinch the bridge of my nose.

  “That’s a yes.” Chelsea snickers. “Who’s the football player?”

  “This boy your aunt —”

  “Mom!” I try to cut her off, but she ignores me.

  “— had a crush on when she went to HOP University. But she was only there a little while since she had to come home after my stroke. And she never got to see him again.”

  I’m annoyed with my past self for telling my mom that much, but after she got out of the hospital, she could tell something was distracting me. So I told her about the boy I liked.

  But I didn’t tell her the whole truth, about just how much my heart was broken. Because Mom’s a romantic, and she would’ve insisted I go back even if we both knew that was impossible.

  “Aw, that’s sad.” Chelsea’s mouth tips into a frown. Then she asks the real question. “Is he still cute?”

  Instead of replying, I put the straw between my lips and suck down half my matcha.

  SEVEN

  MADDOX

  The security guard waves as I drive past the gatehouse and into my neighborhood. But my mind isn’t on the road as I wind through the tall trees, past the long driveways. My mind is back in that conference room.

  Today almost feels like a daydream. Like the events were impossible.

  But it was real.

  I saw Hannah Utley today.

  I talked to her.

  Because she works for me now.

  I depress the brake and slow as I turn my car into my driveway.

  Having grown up in Minnesota, I knew I wanted to retire here. So, after my first season playing for the Minnesota Biters, I bought this property.

  Bypassing the circular part of the driveway, I head to my four-car garage and park in the empty spot.

  My lower back aches as I climb out of the vehicle, and I take a second to press my hands against my hips and arch my spine.

  Three decades of tackling dudes has taken its toll on my body, and after days like today — when I’m stuck in one chair for hours on end — I pay the price.

  Still worth it though.

  Before I shut my door, I reach into the passenger seat and grab the paper bag containing two burritos. Since I’m not playing anymore, and I don’t work out as many hours as I used to, I don’t need to slam this many calories at every meal. But Dana catered in salads for lunch, and I need some sustenance while I think.

  As I step through the side door into the house, I hit the button to shut the garage door.

  I toe my shoes off in the mudroom and toss my keys into one of the cubbies built into the wall. Most of the compartments sit empty, and I have a brief moment to think that I should probably buy some decorations or something to put in them, but if I haven’t done that yet, it’ll probably never happen.

  In my socks, I walk past the laundry room, past an extra storage room, through the grand entryway that opens up into the living room, and then past the couches and into the kitchen.

  The marble island seats eight, and I have double ovens built into the wall with a third in the gas range.

  I set my paper bag on the counter and walk around the island to the cupboard with the plates.

  Setting one down, I pull on another cupboard handle, and the entire wall panel opens, revealing the hidden pantry.

  The light comes on automatically, and I find the bottle I’m looking for, then walk back out.

  With everything I need gathered, I drag out one of the stools and sit down.

  In silence, I unwrap my burritos and start to eat, shaking a bit of extra hot sauce onto each bite.

  And with each bite, I fall deeper into the rabbit hole of wondering about Hannah. Wondering what her life has been like.

  What did she say about switching to online classes? Her work schedule changed?

  Shifting, I reach into my pants pocket and pull out the folded sheet of paper I snagged before I left the conference room.

  With one hand, I smooth it out next to my plate.

  Hannah Utley

  Her résumé is standard. Name, address, phone number…

  I take another bite, then set my burrito down to pull my phone out of my pocket.

  With no shame, I enter her information into my contacts.

  I run my finger down the page to the part with her work history and find the job that lines up with the time I knew her.

  Petals Flower Shop.

  She worked there for years and has listed her positions ranging from customer service to manager to accountant.

  Did Peter say the name of the shop like it was something he was familiar with?

  I pick up my phone again and type in the address listed for Petals.

  It’s in an older part of St. Paul, not that far from me and not that far from the office.

  I type in Hannah’s home address, adding it to the pins on the map, then hit the button to get directions and find myself staring at the travel time.

  Twenty minutes.

  I moved back to town seven years ago, and during that time, Hannah was either at home, at the flower shop, or working her way up the ranks at the company I now own. Meaning, for seven fucking years, she’s been only twenty fucking minutes away. And I had no idea.

  An ugly emotion twists around my heart.

  What happened?

  Why did she leave school, leave me, to come back to work at Petals? A place that — according to the dates on her résumé, she’d been working at since she was fifteen.

  I click on the company’s website, but it takes me to a disabled page. Going back to the map, I expand the information for Petals and see that it’s closed.

  It doesn’t matter.

  Back to the résumé, I stare at her schooling.

  There’s no mention of HOP U. No record at all of her time there. Like it didn’t happen. Wasn’t even real.

  I shake my head at that thought.

  It’s her.

  I know it’s fucking her.

  Same eyes. Same hair and freckles. Same vibrant spark of life.

  I swallow, admitting to myself that she’s not the same.

  None of us are the same people we were in college.

  For a long time — for too long — I thought about Hannah. I told myself I’d hear from her.

  We never exchanged numbers during the week we knew each other, but she knew where I lived. She had to have. Everyone knew where I lived.

  And even after that year, when I graduated and got drafted, she could’ve found me. It’s not like my life was a secret. I was one of the highest-paid defensive tackles in the league. I’ve been on magazine covers. On talk shows and news shows and at celebrity events.

  If she wanted to, she could have found me in seconds.

  There were a few times over the years, a few nights when I was feeling especially lonely, that I’d search her name.