one side. The rain tat-tatted against the polyester tent roofs, and she shivered as the mild precipitation grew more urgent and the breeze chillier against her wet cheeks. Finally, she came to her tent, and though the urge to hunker down was strong, instead she tossed her rucksack inside, turned, and headed toward the media tent, pulling the hood of her jacket tighter around her face.
As she drew closer, she caught sight of Simon sitting underneath the cover of a blue pop-up canopy, his laptop on a table, fingers flying across the keyboard. Nearby, two female reporters Angela recognized from the social media coordinator’s introduction sat across from each other chatting, coffee mugs curled in their hands. They both looked up at her approach, while Simon seemed oblivious. Unless he was ignoring her—in which case, she deserved it.
Angela stepped underneath the awning, crossing her arms over her chest to stay as warm as possible. What she wouldn’t give to go huddle in her sleeping bag, but this was too important. She had to say her piece before her nerves failed her.
When Simon failed to look up, Angela tugged off her hood and cleared her throat.
His eyes rose at last, widening slightly when he saw her. “Be right back.”
“All right.”
He flipped the lid of his computer closed, picked it up, and hurried into a nearby tent that was much bigger than the competitors’ tiny one-person tents.
A bead of water trailed from her hairline down the side of her face. Angela pushed it away and tried to smooth her hair as well, but the evidence of her soaking surely still remained.
Simon emerged from the tent with a blanket in hand, his laptop left behind. He’d thrown on a jacket and a white beanie that brought out the bronze in his skin tone.
How could the man look so attractive no matter what he wore?
“Here. You look cold.” Simon held the blanket out to her. A month and a half ago, he would have wrapped it around her himself, but the time for such familiarities was likely past.
Again, she deserved it. But maybe she could at least give them both some closure by explaining herself.
“Thank you.” Angela took the blanket, rough against her rather frozen fingertips, and unfolded it enough to drape around her shoulders. “Can we talk?”
With a nod, Simon motioned for her to lead the way.
It was then she noticed the rain had stopped nearly as quickly as it had begun, leaving everything a little damp. For privacy’s sake, Angela walked to the outskirts of camp and found a worn log to sit on.
He lowered himself next to her and waited.
Angela pulled the blanket tighter, hiding her hands inside of it. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior on the racecourse yesterday.” Keep going, Angela. “I ran off before we could really talk. What did you want to discuss?”
Simon folded and positioned his hands in front of his mouth as he leaned forward on the log. “That day on the beach, I was taken aback. Didn’t know what to say. How to process the fact that you didn’t see a future with me, when I clearly saw one with you.”
From under the beanie, a stray piece of his hair lay curled against his forehead, making him somehow more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him.
He continued. “Despite all that, I was determined to give you your space. There were a lot of times I nearly broke down and called, texted. I let you go. But when I saw you here, I felt something. Six weeks later, there’s still a spark between us, Angela. And I guess I wondered if you’d . . .”
“Changed my mind?”
Finally, he looked at her, lips not pursed as she would have thought, but screwed up to the side in concentration. “Yeah.”
Angela’s heart stuttered. “I don’t deny we have a deep connection, Simon. Every day we were apart, I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“But still, I wasn’t any closer to figuring out what really went wrong between me and Wes. How I could prevent the same thing from happening again. Last night I got a little closer.” She recounted her epiphany—about how fear had been disguised as anger, how she’d blamed Wes for causing instability in her life, how she’d lost herself and her ability to dream because she’d been afraid.
How she’d sensed God stirring her heart toward forgiveness and bravery.
“And now?”
“Now? I guess I feel . . . almost ready. To dream again.”