She Said I Was Her Only Love, Yet Spent Spring With Her First Love

Chapter 2: The Spring Program

I spent Monday morning reviewing the foundation's draft agenda, and by lunch I understood why Sloane had been in such a hurry to talk.

Vale Point's restoration had always been a three-part plan: preserve the cottages, stabilize the shoreline, and keep the property open to the tenants who had worked on the land for generations. The foundation had agreed to fund the work in stages. In return, it had accepted a stewardship agreement that limited how the property could be developed.

The new agenda included a vote to "reassess the commercial use restrictions in light of updated visitor demand."

That phrase meant the foundation wanted permission to turn the cottages into a private retreat.

I carried the draft agenda to Celeste's office. Her desk stood beside a tall window overlooking the harbor. On the wall, a framed photograph showed the two of us standing together on the day the first cottage roof was finished.

I placed the agenda on her desk.

"What is this?"

She looked at the first page. "A proposal."

"You told me Sloane was working on leases."

"She is."

"She's also pitching a resort plan?"

"It isn't a resort plan."

"There are overnight guest suites, a dining pavilion, and a members-only access road."

"Those are preliminary options."

"Who requested them?"

"The board."

"Did the board ask Sloane to put them together?"

"She brought ideas."

"On whose direction?"

Celeste closed the folder in front of her. "The foundation needs revenue. We have a maintenance deficit and no stable source of funding for the next phase."

"We knew that when we signed the stewardship agreement."

"We didn't know how much the last winter storm would cost."

"The shoreline repairs were included in the reserve estimate."

"Not the way you estimated them."

"I sent the updated figures six weeks ago."

"I saw them."

"And you still put this on the agenda."

"I put it on the agenda for discussion. I'm not selling anything over your head."

"You've already hired the person who wants to sell it."

"Sloane isn't asking the foundation to sell Vale Point. She's looking for a way to keep it solvent."

"By turning it into a retreat for people who can afford a private road."

"By creating enough revenue to pay for the repairs."

I picked up the draft and tapped the agenda line. "If the foundation changes the use restrictions, the preservation grant can be recalled."

"We're reviewing the agreement."

"You signed it."

"So did the foundation."

"And so did I."

Her face hardened. "You signed as project architect. You didn't become the owner."

"I know what I signed."

"Then you know you don't have a veto over every business decision."

"I have a professional obligation not to certify plans that violate the grant terms."

"I haven't asked you to certify anything."

"Not yet."

Celeste leaned back in her chair. "You're already treating Sloane like a threat. I need you to keep work and our marriage separate."

"They're not separate when you use our marriage to make me look unreasonable."

"I have never done that."

"You told me I was your only love in front of half the people in Bellwether. Then you walked away with her."

"That isn't a business decision."

"No. It was a personal one."

She stood. "You want me to apologize because I left a dinner to talk through the program?"

"I want you to stop acting like the dinner is the only thing I noticed."

Her gaze went to the photograph on the wall. I remembered the day it had been taken. Celeste had put her arm around me, and I had been smiling because the last of the scaffolding was coming down.

"You think I don't know what this looks like?" she asked.

"I don't know what you think it looks like."

"I'm asking for patience."

"And I'm asking for the truth."

She reached for the agenda. "The board meeting is next Thursday. Until then, please don't circulate an incomplete draft."

"I won't."

"Thank you."

I turned to leave.

"Avery."

I stopped.

"Sloane's work on the lease survey is useful. If we're going to get the project through this year, we need to keep her involved."

"Then keep her involved."

"You don't have to like her."

"I don't have to pretend she's here only to talk about leases, either."

Celeste didn't answer.

That afternoon I asked the foundation's general counsel, Martin Reed, for a copy of the executed stewardship agreement and the grant schedule. Martin had handled the paperwork when the foundation hired me. He was careful, quiet, and permanently surrounded by neat stacks of paper.

He put the agreement on my desk before I finished explaining why I needed it.

"Your signature is attached to the design-certification clause," he said. "The foundation's not required to keep you as project lead, but it can't replace your certification with a board vote."

"Could they hire another architect?"

"Eventually. They'd need someone willing to certify the new plans and the grant authority would need to approve the change."

"And until then?"

"Any material change to the cottages or their use would require your written approval."

"Does the new proposal count as a material change?"

"If they proceed with it, yes."

I read the clause twice. I knew it already, but seeing it in black and white made the shape of my position clearer.

I had a way to stop the foundation from changing the property without a proper review.

I also had a way to make Celeste's family treat me as an obstacle instead of a partner.

"I don't want to use this against her," I said.

Martin folded his hands. "Is it against her, or is it part of your job?"

I didn't answer.

At home, Celeste had set two plates on the dining table. The meal was simple, one of the recipes we had learned to make together when we first moved into the old house above the harbor.

I put my keys on the counter.

"Did you speak to Martin?" she asked.

"I needed the agreement."

"You could have asked me."

"I did ask you what was happening with the proposal."

"You know what's happening."

"I know what's on the agenda. I don't know what you and Sloane have discussed."

Celeste lifted one of the plates. "Can we eat first?"

"We can eat."

For ten minutes, we discussed the garden, the heating repair, and whether the neighbor's dog had been digging beneath the fence. I listened to Celeste talk about a board member's retirement party and passed her the salt. Our voices sounded normal enough that someone outside the house might have believed we were fine.

Then she set down her fork.

"I have to go to the cottages tomorrow."

"Why?"

"To finish the lease interviews."

"Is Sloane going?"

"Yes."

"Are you staying overnight?"

"No."

I looked at her. "You don't know what I was going to ask."

"You were going to ask if I was staying overnight."

"I was going to ask if you were taking her there alone."

"I can't interview the tenants in a group meeting. It wouldn't be fair to them."

"I didn't ask you not to go."

"I'm telling you now."

"Thank you."

Celeste reached across the table. "I don't want us to turn every ordinary thing into a test."

I left my hand where it was, beside my water glass.

"Then don't make me guess which things are ordinary."

She withdrew her fingers.

We finished dinner. That night, she slept beside me. Neither of us touched the other.