Page 154 of Keller

I put my feet up on the edge of the bannister, listening to the night. The air carries a faint trace of jasmine from somewhere down the block. Tonight, the memory it pulls forward is not the fight or the slammed door. It's my mother laughing in the kitchen, flour on her hands, music playing too loudly.

The past isn't a warning anymore. It's something I survived.

And survival is not the same thing as living.

THIRTY-NINE

Quinn

The End of Carnival:Ash Wednesday: Ash Wednesday marks the formal close of Carnival season, when parades end, masks come off, and krewes disperse until the following year. The shift from spectacle to solemnity underscores the cyclical nature of Carnival, where excess gives way to reflection before tradition begins again.

I carrya stack of folders toward the conference room, my mind half on the grant review scheduled for two o'clock and half on the flutter of movement low in my belly. The baby has been active today, small kicks that remind me I am never truly alone anymore.

I round the corner and stop.

Keller Stone stands just inside the front door, sunlight from the tall windows catching the frame of his glasses. He wears a charcoal suit, no tie, collar open. The same careful posture I remember. The same quiet command of whatever space he occupies.

My heart doesn't race, my breath no longer catches. But he still does something to me when I see him. He's a beautiful man.

His gaze finds mine across the foyer, and we lock eyes for a moment.

Carmen glances up from the reception desk, her pen hovering over a sign-in sheet. Two interns pass behind me carrying boxes of printed materials. The building hums with ordinary Wednesday activity.

I can't stand here frozen now that he knows I've seen him. That would be awkward. And rude.

I walk toward the foyer with the same measured stride I use for board meetings, even if I'm waddling more than striding these days. The folders stay tucked under my arm.

"Keller."

"Hi, Quinn." His voice is even and warm. He's mellowed some since I last saw him.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"Your development coordinator reached out last month. Mira, I think her name was." He adjusts his glasses. "She's impressive. Thorough. She understood exactly what Southern Stars needs for its next phase and articulated it clearly."

Pride swells behind my ribs. I hired Mira for exactly the reasons he's commending her on.

"She's exceptional. We're lucky to have her."

"I wanted to deliver this in person." He extends a cream envelope, heavy stock, no embellishment.

I take it. My fingers brush the edge of the seal.

"Do you mind if I open it?" I ask. I don't ever know the etiquette, but if he took the time to deliver in person, I want to thank him properly.

"Sure," he says easily.

The flap gives easily. Inside, a single check. I read the amount twice before my brain accepts it.

One million dollars.

My hand trembles slightly. I press the envelope against the folders to steady myself.

"Keller. This is very generous. Thank you. It will be put to good use."

"The work is worth backing." His tone carries no expectation, no quid pro quo.

I look up. His expression is calm, unreadable, but his eyes hold something that looks like respect.