Ayana told her parents she was meeting with the community centre's HR coordinator about the job application. Not entirely a lie—she was meeting with Nelson, who technically oversaw hiring. The rest was just creative interpretation.
Her mother barely looked up from her Bible study notes. "Don't be out too late. We have early service tomorrow."
"I won't."
Catherine caught her in the hallway and pressed something into her hand. A key. "My apartment. If you need somewhere, that's not his place. Somewhere safer."
"Cat—"
"I'm with Jake tonight. The place is empty. Just—" Her sister's eyes were worried. "Just be smart, okay?"
Ayana hugged her. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. This is probably going to blow up in all our faces."
---
Nelson's house was dark except for the porch light. Ayana parked down the street, walked through shadows, and felt the thrill and terror of sneaking around like a teenager. But this wasn't teenage rebellion. This was adult choice with adult consequences.
He opened the door before she could knock, pulled her inside, kissed her like he'd been drowning, and she was oxygen. She melted into him, four days of careful distance shattering in seconds.
"I missed you," he breathed against her mouth. "It's been less than twelve hours, and I missed you."
"I know. Me too."
They stood in his dark entryway, just holding each other, neither willing to let go first. Finally, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers.
"We need to talk."
"I know."
He led her to the living room. He'd actually prepared this time—papers spread on the coffee table, two glasses of wine, notes in his precise handwriting. Planning. Organization. Very Nelson.
"Okay," he said, sitting beside her but maintaining inches of space. Professional space. "We need to be strategic about this. Telling your father, managing the fallout, protecting both our positions."
"You've been thinking about this."
"I haven't stopped thinking about it." He gestured to the papers. "Timeline. Potential reactions. Damage control strategies. I know it sounds cold, but we need to approach this logically."
Ayana studied the notes. He'd mapped out scenarios—best case, worst case, most likely case. He'd considered her parents' reactions, the church's response, and community backlash. He'd even outlined talking points for when they went public.
"You made a presentation," she said, somewhere between touched and amused.
"I make presentations for everything. It's how I process." He ran a hand through his hair. "Ayana, I need you to understand what we're facing. Your father will feel betrayed—his best friend and his daughter - conducting a relationship behind his back. The church will—"
"Condemn us. I know." She took his hand. "Nelson, I've been living with this my whole life. I know how they think. How they judge."
"Then you know they'll blame you more than me. They'll call you names. Say you seduced me, tempted me, and corrupted a good man." His voice roughened. "I can't stand the thought of you bearing that."
"Then we control the narrative. We tell my father together. Explain that this is real, not some sordid affair. That we love each other."
"Will he care?" Nelson's laugh was bitter. "Marcus is my best friend, but he's also rigid in his worldview. Age gaps, relationships between mentor figures and younger women—he's preached against exactly this scenario."
"Which is why we need a plan." Ayana pulled the papers closer. "Walk me through it. Best case scenario."
Nelson took a breath. "Best case: we tell your father privately, before anyone else finds out. We're honest about the timeline, about our feelings. We give him time to process. He's hurt, but eventually, he understands. Your mother takes longer but comes around. The community gossips but can't deny we're both adults making conscious choices."
"Worst case?"
"He disowns you. Cuts me off completely. Turns the church against us both. I lost my position at the centre. You're ostracized. We have to leave Millbrook entirely to escape the judgment." His hand tightened around hers. "That's what keeps me awake at night. The thought that loving me costs you your family."
"Then let it." She said it firmly. "Nelson, I'm not giving you up to preserve their comfort. I'm not sacrificing what we have because they can't handle it."
"You say that now—"
"I mean it now. And I'll mean it when things get hard." She shifted closer. "I spent eighteen years being the perfect pastor's daughter. Smiling when I wanted to scream. Staying small so everyone else felt big. I'm done with that. If loving you means losing their approval—fine. I choose you."
He looked at her like she'd offered him salvation. "You're sure?"
"Completely."
"Even knowing what it'll cost?"
"Even then." She kissed him softly. "Now, when do we tell him?"
Nelson pulled out his calendar. "Thomas Garrett's corruption expose happens Tuesday. That'll already be chaos. We can't add our relationship to that fire. After Christmas, maybe? After the holiday tension passes?"
"That's three weeks of hiding. Three weeks of lying to my father's face at family dinners."
"I know. But if we tell him now, during the holidays, it ruins Christmas for everyone. And with the Garrett situation exploding—" Nelson stopped. "The timing is terrible no matter when we do it."
"Then we pick the least terrible option." Ayana studied the calendar. "New Year's. After Christmas, obligations are done. Before I'm supposed to head back to Boston—except I'm not going back. I'm staying. Taking the job at the centre. Building a life here."
"With me," Nelson said quietly.
"With you." She met his eyes. "If you want that."
"Want it?" He laughed, the sound broken and beautiful. "Ayana, I want it so much I can barely breathe. Want you in my life, in my home, in my future. Want to stop hiding. Want to take you to dinner where everyone can see. Want to hold your hand in public. Want—" He stopped, voice thick. "Want everything."
"Then let's plan for everything." She pulled the papers closer. "New Year's Day. We tell my father together. We're prepared for anger, for hurt, for rejection. But we're also united. We don't apologize for loving each other. We just ask him to try to understand."
"And if he can't?"
"Then we move forward anyway. Together."
Nelson stared at the calendar, and January first circled in red. Their deadline. Their declaration of independence.
"Okay," he said finally. "New Year's Day. We tell him."
"We tell him," she agreed.
Relief and terror washed over his face. He pulled her close, buried his face in her hair. "Three more weeks of secret. Three more weeks of pretending. I don't know if I can do it."
"You can. We both can." She held him tighter. "And then we're free."
They sat like that for a long moment, holding each other, preparing for battle. Finally, Nelson pulled back.
"There's something else. The job at the center—if we go public with our relationship, there'll be questions about nepotism and favoritism. People will say I gave you the position because we're involved."
"Then I'll be so good at the job they can't question it." Ayana's voice was firm. "I'll work harder than anyone. Prove I earned it on merit."
"You already have." He smiled. "The kids love you. Dr. Hayes raves about your skills. You're exactly what we need."
"Good. Then, when people gossip, the work speaks for itself."
Nelson's expression turned serious. "Raven's going to be a problem. When she finds out about us, she'll make trouble. She's ambitious, and taking me down would open up the director position."
"Can she actually take you down?"
"Maybe. If she frames it as me abusing my position, having inappropriate relationships with volunteers—even though you and I started this before you volunteered—the optics are bad." He sighed. "We need to be beyond reproach professionally. No closed-door meetings. No preferential treatment. Everything is documented and proper."
"Starting when?"
"Starting tomorrow." He kissed her forehead. "Which means tonight is the last night for a while that we can be just us. No performance. No hiding. Just... this."
She understood what he was offering. One night of normalcy before three weeks of carefully managed distance. One night to be together without fear or restraint.
"Then let's not waste it," she whispered.
They didn't waste it. They talked until midnight—about dreams, fears, the future they were building. They made love slowly, memorizing each other, storing up moments against the drought to come. They planned and plotted and promised.
And when dawn threatened, forcing her to leave before neighbours woke, he held her at the door like he might never see her again.
"Three weeks," he said.
"Three weeks," she promised. "Then everything changes."
She drove home as sunrise painted the sky, knowing they'd crossed a point of no return.
In three weeks, they'd tell the truth.
And Millbrook would never be the same.