Chapter 14 #2
“Ava!” The woman sets her wine glass down on the nearest perch and then cups her granddaughter’s face in both hands, squishing her cheeks like she’s still five.
“You brought me a man who clearly doesn’t eat kale on purpose.
That’s progress, sweetheart. Maybe I’ll live to see my great-grandbabies after all. ”
“G-Ma, don’t start.”
I step forward. “Ma’am, I’m Soren.”
She eyes me like I’m a horse at auction. “Hmph. Good voice. Nice jaw. Decent hips. Strong thighs.”
“G-MA,” Ava grits out.
G-Ma ignores her. “The last man Ava brought home had wrists smaller than mine and thought mulch came from a can. You though? I bet you could split a stump by winkin’ at it.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting the snort of laughter clawing its way up my throat. “I haven't tried. Maybe I should.”
G-Ma nudges Ava’s arm. “Big hands. That’s important. Gotta know if the stock is hardy before you plant the seed.” She waggles her gray brows. “This man could plow a field and still have enough stamina to churn the butter. If you catch my drift.”
Ava might die where she stands. I can’t stop laughing.
“You did good, Ava Bean.” G-Ma pats Ava’s cheek, then swivels her attention to me with laser focus. Before I can brace, she clamps my hand—shockingly strong—and yanks me forward.
I expect a sweet, grandmotherly hug. What I get is a rib-crushing tackle that knocks the air straight out of my lungs. My spine pops. My eyes water.
Her mouth is right by my ear when she growls, “You hurt her, I’ll break your legs.”
She squeezes once more for emphasis, and I’m ninety percent sure one of my ribs waves goodbye.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “I won’t. I promise.”
“You’re a man who knows the value of a good woman.” She bops my nose. “Eat my heart out, why don’t you?”
I smile because I don’t know what else to do.
G-Ma pauses and inspects my face again. “I’m jealous. If I were thirty years younger and didn’t already have four ex-husbands in the grave, I’d keep you for myself.” She snatches her wine glass up and drains the rest of it. “I’m off for a refill.”
Ava glares at her grandmother’s disappearing back. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I grin. “She’s a queen, Ava Bean.”
Ava rolls her eyes. “Better than Bells.”
“Is it?” I dip my head close to her ear. The air between us vibrates. “Because it makes me think of something dirty.”
Ava’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open like she’s caught between outrage and intrigue, and for one glorious second, I think she might fire back, until her mom rounds the corner, smiling.
“Go on upstairs and get settled.” Mandy’s tone is sweet but commanding. “You and Soren are in your old room.”
Ava’s reply stumbles out. “My…what now? No, Fisher and Soren are rooming together.”
Her mom’s grin only grows. “Fisher’s in the guest room.”
Heat streaks across Ava’s face, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot. She’d clearly been banking on Fisher as my bunkmate. But her mother—God bless her scheming heart—had other plans.
Ava whirls toward her mom, voice dropping into a hiss. “Mom. No. Absolutely not. You cannot put us in the same room.”
Mandy blinks innocently. “Why not?”
“Because—” Ava flails one hand at me, like I’m Exhibit A in a trial, but says nothing. She can’t. She’s contractually obligated to me now.
“Handsome, polite, smells faintly of cedar and magic?” Mandy offers, completely unhelpful.
“Mom!”
Coughing into my fist, I fight down a laugh. “For the record, I don’t mind bunking with Fisher.”
Ava presses her palms to her temples. “This family is deranged.”
“Correct,” Mandy chirps. “And also correct is that you and Soren will be in your old room. Enjoy.”
Ava’s glare could melt steel. “Come on. The good news is, there are two full beds in there.”
I nod, somewhat disappointed, and follow her to the hallway where our bags are. When she tries to take hers, I swoop in and lift it from her grip.
“Soren,” she warns. I smile.
“Let me do one gentlemanly thing before your family roasts me alive.”
She crosses her arms but lets me take it. We head upstairs. Ava opens the door to our room, which is filled with sunlight and an overwhelming number of throw pillows.
“There’s only one bed,” Ava mutters, noting the queen-sized mattress in horror. “Mom!” She whips back around and shouts down the stairwell. “What happened to the beds?”
“Gone!” Her mother calls back, “It’s modern times! We know you’re not virgins.”
“Mom, we aren’t that together.”
Yet… I want to say.
“Well, honey, you’d better start being that together,” Mandy yells at us. “Open those legs, Ava. The man has options!”
I’m literally dead.
Ava stalks back inside and slams the door. “I hate this family.”
I drop the bags and suitcases in the corner of the room. “I doubt that very much.”
With a groan, she falls onto the bed, draping an arm over her eyes.
“I can sleep on the floor,” I offer.
“The extremely hard hardwood floor?” she replies, rubbing her temples. “We’re adults. We’ll figure it out. Just… wear a shirt. No funny business.”
I nod solemnly. “What’s your definition of funny?”
Ava throws a pillow at my head, her aim sharper than it has any right to be. I catch the pillow mid-air, plop down on the bed next to her, shaking my head, grinning as a fool who wouldn’t trade this moment for anything else.
She scoots over, but I lean down so our faces are inches apart. “I promise to stay on my side. Unless, of course, you ask otherwise.”
She huffs a laugh. “Please. That’ll never happen.”
“Stranger things have,” I counter. “Like us, in this house, in this bed. Your mom was practically shoving me up the stairs with a neon sign that flashed, ‘Breed Here.’”
Ava’s groan could register on the Richter scale. “Do not say ‘breed’ in my childhood bedroom.”
“Fine. Multiply?”
She yanks another pillow and hurls it at me. This one actually connects. Square to the chest. I let it drop dramatically to the floor as if she’s slain me.
“Dead,” I gasp. “Killed by Ava Bell and her throw pillows.”
Her lips twitch, the faintest betrayal of a smile slipping through, and the tension in the air between us lifts. Just a hair. Just enough to tempt me.
I roll onto my back, hands folded behind my head, pretending not to notice how close she is, how her scent hovers, how the ceiling fan hums, holding its breath for us.
“Your family’s amazing, by the way.”
“They’re insane.” Ava runs her hand over the quilt. “But yeah… I know. Even though I complain.”
I hesitate, fingers tugging at the hem of my shirt. “You’re lucky.”
Her eyes flick to mine. She sits up. “What about your family? Are they as crazy as mine?”
I swallow, shift in place. “They’re—uh…not in the picture.”
Ava goes quiet, then says gently, “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“No, it’s fine. But being here? It’s a lot. In a good way.”
Her hand covers mine, and the touch sends a jolt of warmth straight up my arm. “You’re doing awesome. I’m impressed by your fake boyfriend acting skills. You make it seem real. They’re totally buying it. Which means they’ll be crushed when I tell them it’s over between us in January.”
She says it lightly, teasingly, but every syllable scrapes against me like a jagged blade.
I want to tell her it’s not acting. That none of this—her hand on mine, the warmth of her skin, how her smile turns this family circus into a dream I never want to wake up from—feels fake.
I want to tell her I’m not performing. I’m not The Blade, not Dagger Daddy, not the internet’s favorite thirst trap.
I’m not her viral rival. Or her fake boyfriend.
I’m a man who’s finally found someone worth wanting with his whole damn soul.
But I don’t.
I squeeze her hand once, let go, and smile like I’m still in character. It’s not the right time to tell her any of that. If she knew the truth—that every second with her is the most real I’ve ever been—she’d run.
A yell from downstairs, “Somebody get the turkey hats!”
Ava sighs. “Get ready. You ain’t seen nothing yet, Pembry.” She stands. “And for what it’s worth…I’m glad you came.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
She smiles at me, and sugarplum fairies start dancing in my stomach at that.
I’m about to throw my previous thoughts out the damn window, man up and confess my true agenda—maybe not all of it, but enough—when she flashes a small, wistful smile and adds, “I’m glad that through all of this fake dating debacle, we managed to find a way to be friends. ”
Friends.
The word is a dull thud in my chest.
Ava heads for the door. “See you downstairs.”
I watch her go, the echo of that word still ringing in my ears.
Friends.
I should be grateful. It’s better than enemies. Better than rivals. Better than being blocked and reported.
Damn, I was hoping after our little mutual stare down over my spicy scene the other night—and the way she glared at me as if I’d read her mind—that this trip to see her family might thaw the glacier of ice between us.
But nope, I’m friend-zoned.
Still, that’s a step up from nemesis.
Progress, right?
Yeah. Tell that to the part of me that’s picturing her wrapped in one of those ugly holiday sweaters, curled up next to me on a couch, stealing sips of cider and letting me kiss her without an audience.
Exhaling, I scrub a hand over my stubble and mutter to the empty room, “Baby steps, Pembry.”
Following the scent of roasted Turkey, buttery potatoes, and denial downstairs, I find my way to the kitchen, where Ava flits about as though she’s the eye of the storm, the calm surrounded by the chaos.
Leaning against the doorway, I watch her. Curls wild, cheeks flushed.
Her mother barks orders about marshmallow ratios while Ava steals forkfuls of pie like it’s a sport. After rolling out cookies for the kids to decorate, Mandy palms her daughter’s cheek, leaving a white handprint. Ava doesn’t even notice the small spot of cranberry sauce on her sleeve.