Chapter 20 #2
“I used to get lost in these books,” she says, waving toward the walls, moving the spotlight away from her. “Not for the happily ever after, but the yearning. The tension. That ache when someone’s afraid to want too much, but wants it anyway. I know that ache.”
“And now?” I ask because I need to know and understand her hurt if I ever want to be the one she doesn’t run from.
“You know.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, I write about it,” she says. “About love that I’m too scared to ask for. I write about women who get it right, even if I don’t.”
I don’t hesitate. “You deserve a beautiful love story, Bells. Not just the ones you give everyone else.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Did the idea never occur to you?”
She shakes her head. “Not in a long time—or maybe ever. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“Start here,” I whisper, reaching gently for her hand. “With this chapter. With me.”
Ava stares at our joined hands—mine large and callused from axe handles and book signings, hers delicate but sure. They’ve spent a lifetime bracing for impact.
Her thumb brushes the inside of my wrist. It’s the gentlest touch. But surges through every vein in my body.
“If I let someone write their way into my story again, I’m scared of the ending,” she admits, her voice trembling at the edges.
My heart thuds, deep and painful, against my ribs.
“Then don’t let them write it for you. Write it yourself.
Write the terrifying and messy. I’ll be whatever you need me to be—your plot twist, your cliffhanger, hell, even your tragic hero if that’s what it takes—but I’ll never take the pen out of your hand. ”
She laughs a breath. Then—God—she leans her forehead into my chest.
“I’m not good at this,” she whispers.
“Good,” I say, brushing a knuckle along her cheek. “Neither am I.”
We stay like that for a breath… two… five. The world still spins beyond the gallery’s tall, frost-touched windows. The city glitters in soft focus. But in here, in this small moment carved from pages and heartbeats, it’s ours.
I lean down, but not to kiss her. Not yet. To feel her nose brush mine. To feel her exhale when she lets the walls drop an inch lower. And, gently, her lips press to my cheek—so light it’s as though she’s testing how it feels to let herself hope.
Ava pulls back, eyes swimming with unshed tears. “Ready for the next room?” she asks, voice thick.
I nod, hand still warm around hers. “Lead the way.”
We linger a while longer, moving from canvas to canvas, exhibit to exhibit, letting the hush between us say what our mouths won’t.
Ava stops to study a shadowed portrait titled The One That Got Away, I watch her instead—how her brow furrows in thought, how she bites her lip, as though she’s holding something fragile behind her teeth.
Eventually, I slide my hand into hers again. This time, she squeezes back.
Neither of us says it, but we’re both feeling the weight of what’s clicking into place between us.
Outside, the December air nips at our cheeks, but Ava doesn’t let go of my hand as she veers toward the car, cheeks flushed, eyes still sparkling from the exhibit.
I tug her back gently. “Not so fast. We’ve got a Blind Date with some books.”
“What?”
I nod toward the indie bookstore glowing down the block, windows fogged and shelves lined like a siren call to every reader with a Tbr taller than their fridge. “You’ve got three minutes. Grab whatever you want. As many as you can carry. I’m paying.”
Her jaw drops. “I—Are you serious?”
“I’m rarely not, but…” I say, leading her across the street. “Clock starts once we walk through that door.”
“Are you insane?”
“Yes.”
The bell chimes when we step inside. She does a little spin in the entryway, trying to absorb every shelf at once. Then something clicks behind her eyes, and Ava Bell activates.
“I’m going full gremlin,” she warns.
“Do your worst.”
And she does.
In the first thirty seconds, she clears the new release table. She dual-wields tote bags the store owner hands her with sheer fear in her eyes.
At one point, she’s muttering to herself in a frenzy: “Need the special edition. Ooh, sprayed edges. Oh my god, the romance section. SORRY!” That last one is to an innocent display she knocks over in her sprint.
Ava grabs all of my books—two of each. When I raise a brow, she shrugs. “One for reading. One for collecting. Duh.”
By the end of her spree, she’s red-faced, grinning, and wobbling under a tower of books that defies basic laws of physics. She dumps another stack on the counter, and I brace myself for the bill.
The total?
Astronomically high.
The cashier reads it aloud, and Ava chokes on her laugh. “Would you look at that,” she says sweetly, elbowing me. “Dating is expensive.”
“I regret nothing,” I pull out my card.
Watching her glow like this is worth the thousands I just spent.
At the car, I grin and open the door for her. She slides in, her eyes scanning the dashboard, the heated seats already warming.
Once I put several heavy bags of books into the trunk, I hop in and put the car in reverse, pulling away from the curb, merging back into the pulse of the city. Streetlights blur past in ribbons of gold. The silence is charged with high energy from two very successful agenda items.
Ava leans back against the headrest, watching me from the corner of her eye. “So... what’s next, Pembry?”
My pulse jumps. “Dinner. Somewhere that I hope surprises you.”
“Is it a dungeon?”
“Only if you count hanging plants and overpriced farm-to-table menus as bondage.”
Her lips curl. “Color me intrigued.”
The GPS chimes softly. I take the next turn that swallows us deeper into the night, onto a quiet road winding through a grove of pine and maple, their bare branches dusted in icy lace. At the end of the lane, a structure appears—glassed walls glowing from within.
The greenhouse.
She stiffens as I put the car in park. “What is this?”
“You’ll see.”
I get out and walk around to her side. Chivalry may be outdated, but I’m leaning into every romance trope tonight. I offer her my hand, and to my surprise, she takes it. Her palm is small and cool, and my stomach somersaults at her touch.
Inside, the greenhouse is warm, scented with earth and citrus. String lights hang in lazy loops overhead, and candles flicker from stone planters and hanging lanterns.
At the center of the space, beneath an arch of ferns and ivy, is a small picnic setup: thick blankets, two chairs, and a table covered with dishes.
“Another favor.” I shrug, watching her eyes scan the scene. “The owner of the botanical center’s a fan. I promised a signed edition and a quote for their Valentine’s brochure.”
“Romantic bribery.”
I chuckle. “I’m not ashamed.”
She walks ahead, fingers brushing a vine of jasmine. “This is…”
“Too much?”
Her eyes meet mine across the candlelight. “No. It’s perfect.”
My chest expands. I don’t let myself grin. Yet.
We sit. Eat. Talk. She teases me for my soup-slurping. I tease her for the way she smells everything before tasting it.
“You remind me of a suspicious woodland creature,” I say. She laughs. I light up.
The meal is delicious, and filled with laughter that comes more easily than I expected.
As I retrieve the deck of “Conversation Cards” from my coat pocket, a curiosity crosses Ava’s features.
“I have questions,” I clarify. “And I thought we could play a game.”
“Prepared, are you?”
“Ambitious,” I smirk. “Your turn first.”
She picks a card. “Favorite book growing up?”
“The Last Unicorn. It made me cry, but don’t spread that around.”
A soft smile. “Your secret’s safe.”
“My turn.” I shuffle, pull a card. “First kiss?”
She snorts. “Middle school. Halloween dance. He was dressed as a cowboy. I was Juliet.”
“A cross-genre masterpiece.”
She huffs a laugh, then looks away, hair falling over her shoulder.
We fall into rhythm. The cards alternate between silly and soul-baring.
“What’s your biggest fear?” I ask.
Not being enough for someone to stay.
Ava doesn’t say that aloud, but I see it in her pause. I heard her tonight. I listened.
She finally exhales. “Geese.”
Taken by surprise, and very fucking confused, I repeat. “Geese?”
“They have teeth on their tongues, Soren. Teeth. On their tongues. That’s not a bird. That’s a demon in a down coat.”
I laugh, hysterically. “Fair. I was expecting commitment or spiders. But geese?”
“They hiss. They chase. I got attacked on a second-grade field trip, and honestly? I still flinch when I see a pond.”
Her eyes meet mine. The humor fades, but the openness lingers. It’s not the whole truth. But it’s enough for now.
Geese?
Who knew?
She takes another card. “What’s one thing no one knows about you?”
“I learned how to bake during lockdown,” I answer. “Got weirdly good at scones and cinnamon rolls.”
“You could star in my next book.”
“Would love to.” I pick the next card up. “What’s something you want but won’t admit?”
She hesitates. Takes a long pull of her wine, then says, “You.”
My pulse is a drumline in my throat, rhythmic and insistent, but my hands stay where they are. I’m afraid any movement will scare her off.
“Ava,” I murmur, her name the softest thing I’ve ever said.
She looks away. Her fingers twist in her lap. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Yes, you definitely should have said that.”
Ava lifts her gaze. Her eyes are glassy, bottomless, guarded. But the door’s been cracked open.
One more inch.
“You make it almost impossible to keep my walls in place,” she whispers.
I push my chair back and stand, the legs scraping softly against the cobblestone floor. Leaning over the table, Sixteen Candles–style, I close the distance until our breaths tangle in the space between us while clutching the edges of he table to brace myself. “Tear them down, Bells. Let me in.”
Her breath shivers out, fragile and unsteady.
“I’m not going anywhere. You want me? You’ve got me. No games. No gutting.”
“I don’t know how to do this without breaking something.”
“Then break me,” my voice is just for her. “Just don’t lie to yourself about what this is between us.”
Ava’s answer is in her silence. She tilts her chin up, glassy eyes shining as though she might finally let herself fall.
I lean down. Her breath trembles against my mouth. My hand hovers near her cheek, aching to touch.
And then—
The temperature plummets. A sudden gust rips over the glass structure, rattling it like a warning. Candles flicker, and the moment shatters, leaving us suspended, our lips a breath apart, the world intruding before we collide.
“Come on,” I say, rising to stand. “We have one more stop.”
She protests, but I wrap the blanket from the picnic around Ava’s shoulders, and as I lead her back out into the cold, she yanks a pair of gloves onto her tiny hands.
The greenhouse lights flicker behind us as I guide her to the car, her gloved fingers brushing mine occasionally. Even her subconscious can’t make up its mind.
Her cheeks pink from the cold, she watches the frost sparkle on the windows, her lashes dewy and dark.
When we slide into the warmth of the SUV, she sighs and flexes her fingers over the heater vents.
“Okay,” she murmurs. “That was disgustingly romantic.”
“I know.” I grin, pushing the car into drive. “And I’m not done yet.”
Her expression is laced with suspicion and reluctant amusement.
We drive up a steep overlook, one of those hidden local spots you only know about if you’ve lived here or—like me—done an unhealthy amount of research.
At the top, the view opens up. City lights sparkle below, casting reflections on the lake in the distance.
“Okay,” she says, squinting out at the skyline. “This might actually be impressive.”
“Might?”
“Still debating.”
“The silence here is different,” I say. “It holds secrets.”
Her arm brushes mine. I don’t move.
“You did all this for one night?” she asks, voice shaky.
“I did all this because I want more than one night.”
Her pouty lips press together. They’re made for kissing. She catches the bottom one between her teeth, trying to hold something in—words, want. Both.
“I know the deal,” I say. “But I also know what I want. I want the whole sarcastic, emotionally guarded, wildly brilliant you. And now that I know you want me too…well, prepare for my level up.”
“How in the world could you possibly–”
“Wait and see.” I reach across her legs and open the glove box to retrieve a tiny Bluetooth speaker.
Her eyes watch curiously as I cue up the premade playlist on my phone.
A few taps later, the unmistakable opening of “I Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon fills the car.
“Oh my God,” she says, staring at me in horror. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Yes,” I say, deadly serious. “Get out of the car, Bells.”
“You did not cue up a power ballad.”
“I did. And I’m asking you to dance with me.”
“It’s twenty-eight degrees.”
“Exactly. Good excuse to get close.”
She eyes me like I’ve grown antlers. “You are such a sap.”
“Guilty.”
Opening my door, I rush around to hers and hold out my hand. I’m standing there with breath fogging the air and a stupidly hopeful expression on my face, waiting.
Finally, she groans, then caves.
Ava steps into me as I wrap an arm around her back and pull her in, slow and careful.
The music is ridiculous, and she’s fighting a smirk even now, but when her cheek rests near my shoulder, one more crack in her armor splinters.
We move in lazy circles beside the car, headlights casting a soft halo around us. Snowflakes drift like feathers through the air, sticking to her hair. The chorus builds, and I lower my voice to speak in her ear.
“You know what I see when I look at you?”
Her head tilts slightly so her eyes can meet mine.
“I see the woman beyond the name stamped on your books. The one who builds worlds out of heartbreak and hope. Who thinks and works too damn hard and gives too little of herself because it’s safer.
I see someone who’s been burned so badly, she’d rather freeze to death than risk it again.
And that’s brave as hell, Ava. You are both fire and starlight. ”
Her arms tense slightly. She’s pulling away, not physically, but emotionally, and the moment is threatening to crumble.
“I’m not trying to fix you,” I add. “Or push you into anything you’re not ready for. I promise I’ve only been honest with you. And for tonight—one night—let yourself give in to the pull between us. Make this one moment beautiful. Something to hold onto when those demons creep back in.”
Tears well in Ava’s eyes. We gaze at each other for a long moment. Then, her head settles on my shoulder, and we sway, surrounded by snow, by music, by emotions.
And we stay there.
Dancing.
Quiet.
Together.