Chapter Two Nate #3
He carried the bag to the dumpster and lifted it in. When he turned around, Ava had both arms folded.
Defensive.
Still annoyed.
But she had not walked away.
That felt important.
Nate kept a few feet of distance between them.
“I meant what I said,” he told her. “You’re not the joke.”
Her face changed.
Not much.
But enough.
Something guarded moved behind her eyes.
“I know that,” she said too quickly.
He did not believe her.
He also did not know her well enough to say that.
So he said, “Good.”
The silence stretched.
From the deck, someone yelled Tyler’s name in the exact tone that meant Tyler had made another choice requiring supervision.
Ava glanced toward the noise. “Your friends are loud.”
“My friends are a medical condition.”
“Is there treatment?”
“Usually losing.”
“Then I hope they lose often.”
“They do. Emotionally.”
She looked back at him. “And you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you lose often?”
He should have made a joke.
That was what he did.
A wink. A shrug. Something easy.
Instead, he found himself saying, “Not if I can help it.”
Her expression shifted.
There.
She had heard the truth under it.
The problem with Ava Lane, apparently, was that she listened too well.
“That sounds exhausting,” she said.
“It is.”
He had not meant to say that either.
Ava’s arms loosened slightly.
The moment turned quieter than it should have behind a snack shack beside a dumpster.
Nate cleared his throat. “Anyway. I’ll shut the bet down.”
“You can do that?”
“Probably.”
“Very confident answer.”
“I can try.”
“Less confident. More believable.”
He nodded. “Fair.”
She studied him. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why shut it down? You seemed pretty comfortable with the attention.”
The words hit closer than he wanted.
Because she was not wrong.
Nate knew how to survive attention. He knew how to turn it, shape it, make it work for him before it could corner him. If people were laughing with him, they usually were not asking much of him. Not anything real, anyway.
“I’m comfortable with attention on me,” he said. “Not on someone who didn’t ask for it.”
Ava stared at him again.
This time, no joke came.
He watched her decide what to do with that answer.
Then she looked away first.
Interesting.
Dangerous.
She bent to pick up an empty cardboard box near the shed. “Apology accepted.”
Nate should have left.
That was the moment.
Clean exit. Mature choice. Future captain behavior.
Instead, he said, “You still think I’m going to lose?”
She straightened slowly.
There it was.
The spark again.
“I think men who announce they won’t catch feelings are usually begging the universe to embarrass them.”
“I didn’t announce it.”
“You said it near Tyler. That’s basically a press release.”
Nate laughed. “Also fair.”
“And yes,” she said, picking up another flattened box. “I think you’re going to lose.”
He stepped closer, careful to keep the distance respectful. “To who?”
Ava tilted her head. “That’s the problem with feelings, Brennan. They rarely file paperwork in advance.”
His last name in her mouth was a bad idea.
A very bad idea.
He liked it anyway.
“I’m more disciplined than you think,” he said.
“No, you’re more charming than you think. There’s a difference.”
That stopped him.
Most people told Nate he was charming like it was a compliment.
Ava said it like it was evidence.
“What does that mean?”
“It means charm is what people use when they want credit for being easy to like without doing the work of being worth trusting.”
Well.
That was a direct shot to the sternum.
Nate looked at her.
Really looked.
The sarcasm was still there. The guard too. But underneath it, something sharper. Experience, maybe. Someone had made her feel like a fun detour. Someone had smiled and taken and left her holding the cleanup.
Nate felt a sudden, unfamiliar urge to find that person and introduce him to the bottom of the lake.
Which was insane.
And unhelpful.
And probably evidence Tyler’s bet was cursed.
He kept his voice even. “You don’t trust charming men.”
“I trust patterns.”
“And I’m a pattern?”
“You are wearing a Ridgeview hockey shirt, carrying a stick, involved in a public feelings bet, and standing behind a snack shack after one lemonade.”
He nodded slowly. “When you say it like that.”
“I usually do.”
He smiled despite himself.
She looked at his smile and sighed like it had personally failed a background check.
“You should go,” she said.
“Probably.”
“You have a bet to kill.”
“I do.”
“Great.”
“Great.”
Neither of them moved.
The air between them warmed.
Not from the sun.
That was the problem.
Ava noticed too. Her fingers tightened on the cardboard.
Nate forced himself to step back.
“Thanks for accepting the apology,” he said.
“Thanks for taking the trash.”
“Big day for personal growth.”
“Try not to overdo it.”
He turned toward the path.
He made it three steps.
“Nate.”
He stopped.
Slowly, he looked back.
Ava stood by the shed, one hand on her hip, the other holding the crushed cardboard box. The setting sun caught in her hair. Her expression was still sharp, still guarded, still entirely too unimpressed for his pride.
But her mouth had softened.
Just a little.
“If you’re really shutting the bet down,” she said, “you should know something.”
His pulse shifted.
“What?”
Her smile appeared.
Small.
Mean.
Perfect.
“I already voted.”
Nate stared at her.
From the deck, Tyler’s voice rang out.
“CALLAHAN! WHY DID SNACK SHACK AVA VOTE OPTION THREE?”
Nate closed his eyes.
Behind him, Ava laughed.
And that was the exact sound that made him realize shutting down the bet might be the first thing all summer he was genuinely afraid to do.