Chapter 17
Sawyer
It’s barely past nine, and I’ve already blown through two coffees and one heated phone call with a supplier who somehow managed to send twenty industrial light fixtures to the wrong construction site. Again.
My office building sits on prime real estate overlooking the Atlantic, the place developers beg to get a slice of.
Floor-to-ceiling windows frame a postcard-perfect view of the ocean—sunlight bouncing off the water in waves of gold and blue.
The quiet hum of the AC mixes with the muffled sounds of the city below, a distant buzz that barely registers.
I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled, and take in the view most people would kill for.
But the only thing I can focus on is her.
Charli.
She’s been on my mind all morning. Not just because she looked damn good wrapped in my bedsheets this morning, her hair a wild halo and that smug little smirk when she stole the last of the coffee at breakfast.
No, it’s more than that.
Mia called her this morning, right after the sun came up and the storm clouds cleared, and offered Charli a catering contract for Magical Moments. Exclusive. Every bridal tasting, every wedding reception that comes through their boutique. Charli said yes immediately.
I knew she would. She’s not the type to hesitate when her gut tells her to leap—and this is her leaping.
I’ve never been so damn proud. Or so damn protective. Watching her build something after everything that happened at the Silver Willow... it makes something tight in my chest loosen. Like the future doesn’t have to look like a battlefield.
I rub the back of my neck and glance at my computer, smiling at the memory of her lighting up like a Christmas tree when she hung up with Mia—eyes shining, cheeks flushed, bouncing on her toes as she gushed about how Mia said her food had ‘soul’ and how she'd dreamed of doing something like this since the first time she set foot in a real kitchen.
Then my phone screen lights up.
Unknown Number: I’m sorry.
That’s it. Just those two words. No context. No name.
I stare at it for a beat, something uneasy curling low in my gut.
It could be a wrong number. Could be one of the dozens of employees who forgot a deadline. Could be someone trying to make amends for something that happened months ago and decided today was the day?
I lock the screen and toss the phone onto my desk with a huff.
Probably a wrong number. Who even sends anonymous apologies anymore?
If someone’s sorry, they can damn well say it to my face—and right now, the only thing I care about is getting those damn light fixtures to the right job site, not some cryptic nonsense buzzing in from the past.
I open my laptop and start hammering out a list of priorities for the finalization of Palmera Hotel and Spa, determined to stay ahead of the schedule. But even as I focus on reports and contractor bids, a quiet part of me keeps glancing at that message.
I'm sorry.
For what?
And why now?
It’s late afternoon by the time I finally get through the pile of work in front of me.
The hotel is ahead of schedule—barely—but I’ll take the win.
Ian’s wedding is coming up, and I refuse to let anything go sideways.
The finishing touches on the spa are happening this week.
Custom lighting, imported tile, even the scent diffusers Mia insisted on for “the right bridal energy.” It’s happening, and it’s going to be perfect.
I’m standing at the window with my third coffee of the day, staring out at the ocean, when I hear raised voices down the hall. Unusual. The front desk team knows how to handle visitors—especially the uninvited kind. Then I hear it: my name. Sharp. Loud. Female.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Before I can make it to the door, it swings open hard enough to rattle the hinges.
Ava.
Her hair’s longer, darker than I remember. She’s thinner. Or maybe just sharper—like life sanded her down. But those eyes? Same stormy gray that used to look at me like I hung the moon.
I don’t move. I don’t speak. My mind goes blank except for one vivid flash—an airport terminal, my heart in my throat, her saying “I’ll be right back,” and then…
nothing. She never came back. Not even a text that said “I’m sorry”.
A full thirty minutes later, I watched on a CCTV screen her board another plane—with another man.
Ava now shifts on her heels, clutching a designer bag like it’s body armor. “Hi,” she says, like this is just some casual drop-in. Like she didn’t detonate a landmine in my life all those years ago.
I let the silence stretch. Let it burn. She doesn't deserve an immediate response.
“Ava,” I say finally, my voice low. Controlled. “Bold move. Walking in here like this after all this time.”
She flinches—barely. “I know. I just… I needed to see you.”
My jaw ticks. “Why? Looking for another flight to catch?” And just like that, it clicks.
The text from this morning—I’m sorry. It wasn’t a wrong number.
Wasn’t a confused employee. It was her. The same message she had never had the guts to send back then, now tossed at me like a bone. Cowardly. Late. Meaningless.
Her expression cracks then, and for a second, I see it—regret. Real, jagged, human regret. She closes the door behind her but doesn’t come any closer to me. Smart.
“I made a mistake,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I never should’ve left like that.”
I take a slow sip of my coffee and set it down carefully. My pulse is pounding in my ears, but on the outside, I’m ice.
“You didn’t just leave, Ava. You lied. You ran. You made me think we had a future, and then you vanished without a trace. So forgive me if I’m not exactly eager for a reunion tour.”
“I know,” she whispers, her voice cracking as she wrings the strap of her bag in her hands.
“I know what I did. And I know I have no right to show up like this.” Her gaze drops to the floor, and when she looks up again, her eyes are filled with something raw—regret, shame, something close to contrition.
“But I’ve thought about you every day since then.
And then I saw the article about you… and her…
I just…” She swallows, clearly struggling.
“I realized I never should have let you go. And maybe I never said it before because I was too much of a coward, but I’m saying it now. ”
Ah, the article and that damn photo from Nassau. Charli and I. Happy. Real.
I stare at Ava, a cold realization settling in. “You saw the article, and then you remembered me and your lack of an explanation or apology?”
Her chin trembles. “It wasn’t like that.”
“No?” I laugh, bitter and low. “Because it sure as hell doesn't feel like you missed the version of me who belonged to you. Too bad. That guy died in that airport that day.”
She takes a shaky breath, eyes glistening and head nodding. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. In person. You deserved that. I needed you to know that what I did… it wasn’t about you. It was about me not knowing how to stay when things got real.”
My voice is cold steel. “Yeah. I figured that out when I watched you board another plane with someone else.”
She nods, swallowing hard. “I’ll go. I didn’t come here to mess up your life again. I just needed to say it. To your face. I needed to know, you know.”
She turns, hand on the door, and I don’t stop her.
"I don't care what you need or don't need, Ava. Not anymore." This is closure. Not for her—for me.
She nods and walks out as fast as she arrived, and I don’t even realize I’ve been gripping the back of my chair until I hear the creak under my hand. I sit down slowly, chest tight, head spinning, when my phone buzzes again and another text from that unknown number glows on the screen.
Unknown Number: Thank you for not slamming the door in my face.
My thumb hovers over the delete button and then, without responding, I block the number.
I look back at my view of the ocean and exhale a slow breath. Reaching for my phone again—this time, I call Charli - because there’s only one person I want to see right now. And it damn sure isn’t my past.
It’s after seven when I make it to the park for kickball practice.
My team’s already warming up on one field while Charli’s huddled with her crew on the other.
She’s in leggings and a tank top, her hair piled on her head like she’s ready to win and laugh doing it.
She sees me across the field and flashes me that cocky grin—the one that makes my chest ache in the best damn way.
I grin back and jog toward my team, the familiar competitive spark lighting in my chest. I line up the kick and send the ball sailing across the field, clean and powerful.
It lands deep in the outfield, earning a chorus of whistles and hoots from the Walking Ladies that seem to always be here.
Not to be outdone, I follow it up with a textbook slide into second base, popping up with a grin like I’ve just won the damn World Series.
My teammates explode with exaggerated cheers, clapping and laughing.
From across the way, I hear Charli yell, "Show-off!"
"Only for you, sweetheart!" I shout back without missing a beat, tossing her a wink.
My teammates groan in unison.
“Dude, we get it,” Eli says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’ve got a smokin’ hot girlfriend and a hero complex. Can we dial it down before the rest of us look completely useless?”
“Yeah,” Parker adds from third base, smirking. “Some of us are still trying to impress the single ladies without turning kickball into a Flex-Off.” He stretches his legs like he’s prepping for a marathon, but he’s clearly showing off too, just weirder about it.
“Jealousy is loud,” I call over my shoulder.
By the end of practice, we’re sweaty, competitive, and grinning like kids on the last day of school. But just as I’m about to grab my water bottle, something catches my eye.
A figure in the bleachers. Alone. Watching.
Ava. What the hell is she doing here?
As I watch her out of the corner of my eye, she says nothing.
Doesn’t wave. Just sits there, stiff and unreadable, her expression a mix of regret and something else I can’t quite place.
The storm clouds from earlier still linger in the sky, and for a second, the mood matches her face—gray, unresolved.
She sits for a few more minutes, hands clenched in her lap, and then finally rises.
She doesn’t look back. Just turns and walks off, slipping away from the field like a shadow at dusk. Good riddance.
Charli jogs over to me, catching the tail end of whatever expression I’m wearing. “You good?” she asks, nudging me with her elbow. Her smile brightening up my entire day.
I nod. “Yeah. Just thinking about how we’re going to wipe the floor with your team at next week's game.”
She snorts. “You're delusional but cute. I like that.”
I glance back at the now-empty bleachers and feel something inside me finally settle. This must have been the closure I didn't realize I needed.
Ava's gone and I hope for good because the only future I’m interested in is the one that is standing right next to me with her hand in my back pocket.
And right now, that future’s looking pretty damn perfect.