Page 40 of Keller

I'm here for Nate and for our foundation. I smooth my skirt and take a deep breath, counting down from five to center my thoughts to here, to this afternoon ceremony.

The building looks better than I expected. Fresh white paint, black shutters, and a wide porch stretches across the front. The sign above the door readsSouthern Stars Veterans Resource Centerin brass letters that catch the last of the daylight.

People fill the lawn. Veterans in jeans and button-downs stand near the porch steps, some leaning against the railing, others clustered in small groups. Donors drift between them, champagne flutes in hand, nodding along to conversations

I stand near the side of the crowd, hands clasped in front of me. My heels sink slightly into the grass. I hate wearing heels.

The breeze off the river carries the smell of magnolias and fresh mulch from the planters lining the walkway.

Nate takes the podium set up near the ribbon. His voice carries easily across the lawn, smooth and practiced.

"This building represents more than square footage. It's a promise to the men and women who served this country, who came home to challenges no one should face alone."

I've heard three versions of this speech over the last twenty-four hours, but it still touches me. The foundation isn't perfect, but the work is real. Housing placements, job training and mental health resources. This center consolidates services that used to be scattered across three separate offices.

"And this is just the beginning. With continued support from this community, we're expanding our reach across Louisiana."

Applause ripples through the crowd. Nate smiles graciously. He gestures toward me and I lift my hand in a small wave. A few people turn to look, donors mostly, and I nod back.

The scissors catch the light as Nate cuts the ribbon. It falls in two pieces and more applause follows. Cameras flash. Someone near the front whoops and a few people laugh.

I scan the crowd with pride that Nate is really doing it, and we've finally moved out of Aunt Beverly's home office to our first building dedicated to our work since the mid nineties.

And that's when I see him.

Keller stands near the back, his fitted, navy blazer open over a starched white shirt, hands in his pockets. He's talking to Harold Brennan, one of the foundation's long-time donors. Brennan gestures with his champagne glass and Keller nods, listening.

My pulse shifts.

He doesn't belong here. Not because he wasn't invited, but because this space is mine. This is my family's legacy, my grandfather's vision.

And yet he fits. He's annoyingly comfortable in his skin, listening to Brennan with the same easy attention he gave me over drinks.

I look away before he notices.

Except when I glance back a moment later, his eyes are already on me.

There's no smile, necessarily, but recognition that we each saw the other. His gaze holds a fraction longer than polite. Something tightens in my chest.

The formalities dissolve around us. Nate steps down from the podium and people break into smaller groups. Donors drift toward the porch as veterans file inside to tour the new space.

I move before I can stop myself, weaving through clusters of conversation. My heels press into the grass. The breeze lifts my hair off my shoulders.

Brennan shakes Keller's hand and turns toward the building. Keller stays where he is, watching me approach.

I stop a few feet away.

"Hey, you."

His mouth curves, just slightly.

“Quinn,” he says warmly, flashing that amazing smile. “It’s good to see you.”

I nod, aware of the space between us and the fact that neither of us closes it. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He studies me for a second, head tilting slightly. “Southern Star does good work. I'm honored to be a part of it.”

That catches me off guard, but I don't push. A part of the ceremony, or something more?