Chapter Nine Ava
Ava Lane had created a fake boyfriend, won a relay, threatened multiple hockey players, and accidentally agreed to a sponsor lunch before noon.
Her summer goals were not just off track.
They had stolen a golf cart and driven into the lake.
“Come on, boyfriend,” she had said, because apparently panic had taken over her mouth and hired a chaos consultant.
Now Nate Brennan was walking beside her with her hand tucked around his arm, looking calm enough to be suspicious and attractive enough to be illegal near emotionally unstable women.
Ava did not like either fact.
She especially did not like how easily his pace adjusted to hers.
Not too fast.
Not too slow.
Not dragging her toward the sponsor tent like a man excited to perform fake romance in front of witnesses.
Just beside her.
Again.
A choice, not a shield.
She was starting to resent that phrase for being accurate.
“Before we arrive at lunch and you say something heroic and terrible,” she said under her breath, “we need rules.”
Nate looked down at her. “I love rules.”
“That is either a lie or a disorder.”
“Can it be both?”
“Rule one. Do not love anything. That’s the entire theme of your summer, remember?”
His mouth twitched. “Noted.”
“Rule two. No improvising boyfriend details.”
“Define details.”
“How long we have been dating, how we got together, pet names, anniversary dates, traumatic first kisses, shared playlists, anything that requires continuity.”
“Traumatic first kisses?”
“I don’t know your range.”
“My range is better than traumatic.”
“That sounds exactly like what a traumatic kisser would say.”
He almost smiled. Almost.
But his eyes stayed too aware of her face, and Ava remembered why they were walking toward this lunch in the first place.
Trevor.
Texts.
A nickname that still had teeth.
She looked ahead.
The sponsor tables had been arranged beneath a row of white tents near the lawn. Folding chairs. Blue tablecloths. Ridgeview Challenge centerpieces. Too many adults with business cards. Too much polite clapping. Too many places for Trevor Hale to stand and pretend he was harmless.
Nate’s arm stayed steady beneath her hand.
“Rule three,” she said, quieter. “No asking me what happened with Trevor.”
His expression shifted.
Not surprise.
Acceptance.
“Okay.”
She hated that the word loosened something in her chest.
“Rule four. No punching Trevor.”
“I had not planned to punch Trevor.”
She looked at him.
He looked back.
“Today,” he added.
“Nate.”
“What? I am being honest.”
“Honesty is supposed to help.”
“It is helping me maintain realistic expectations.”
Ava shook her head, but the laugh tried to rise anyway.
She swallowed it.
Laughter was dangerous around Nate.
It made him look pleased. It made her feel like she had handed him something. It made the fake parts blur.
“Rule five,” she said. “No touching unless I start it.”
Nate stopped walking.
Ava’s hand slipped from his arm.
For one stupid second, she thought she had offended him.
Instead, he turned fully toward her and nodded once.
“Yes.”
No joke.
No smile.
No making it flirty.
Just yes.
The simplicity of it punched a hole straight through her defenses.
Ava looked away first.
That was happening too often with him.
“Great,” she said. “Good. Excellent rule comprehension.”
“I can also add one.”
Her eyes came back to his. “You want a rule?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Terrifying, but fine.”
“If you want out, you say lemonade.”
Ava blinked. “Lemonade?”
“Code word. If you say lemonade, I get you out of the conversation, lunch, photo, whatever it is. No questions.”
She stared at him.
“That is ridiculous,” she said.
“It’s easy to remember.”
“It’s also your emotional support beverage.”
“Exactly. Brand consistency.”
She wanted to mock it.
She really did.
Instead, she heard herself ask, “No questions?”
His answer came immediately. “No questions.”
Ava’s throat tightened.
No questions sounded like safety.
She did not have room for safety.
Not from Nate.
Not today.
Probably not ever.
“Fine,” she said. “Lemonade.”
His gaze held hers. “Good.”
A whistle blew behind them.
Tyler jogged up, slightly out of breath and vibrating with the kind of excitement that made Ava want to hide sharp objects.
“Great news,” he said.
Ava pointed at him. “No.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“Your tone confessed.”
Nate said, “What did you do?”
“Nothing. Yet. But the official account posted the winner photo.”
Ava’s stomach dropped.
“What winner photo?” she asked.
Tyler held out his phone.
Nate took it before Ava could, which violated no touching and no asking rules, but somehow still felt like protection from impact.
He looked at the screen.
His jaw shifted.
Then he turned the phone toward her.
The Ridgeview Challenge account had posted a carousel.
The first image was Team One crossing the finish line. Soren on one side, Nate on the other, Ava in the middle, her hand in Nate’s for the final strides.
The second image was the team photo by the banner.
Ava’s sunglasses were on top of her head. Nate was beside her. Soren looked like he had wandered into a deposition.
The third image was worse.
Ava and Nate after the relay, her hand wrapped around his arm, her fake smile aimed toward Trevor, Nate looking down at her like the rest of the world had dropped out of frame.
Ava stared at it.
That was not fair.
Cameras should not be allowed to lie that convincingly.
The caption read:
Opening Week Relay winners: Team One. Brennan, Lindqvist, and Lane start the summer strong.
That was fine.
Then Ava saw the comments.
@tylernotapproved: Team One? More like Team One Bedazzled Emotional Crisis.
@beckettwilder: Caption correction: Brennan has fallen and cannot get up.
@milesonice: Soren carrying the only brain cell.
@ellie_at_lakebriar: Ava looks amazing and all hockey players should fear her.
Then, lower:
@trevorhale: Cute. See you both at lunch.
Ava’s skin went cold.
Nate handed Tyler’s phone back with a look that made Tyler suddenly remember survival skills.
“I did not comment that,” Tyler said quickly. “My comment was supportive and stupid. His is creepy and stupid. Different categories.”
Ava hated that Tyler was right.
“It’s fine,” she said.
Nate did not look at her when she said it.
Good.
She did not need him noticing again.
She needed a chair, a minute, and possibly a universe where she had chosen to work at a bookstore instead of a lake with hockey players and sponsor tents.
Paulson waved from the lunch tent. “Team One, over here.”
Ava smiled automatically.
Work smile.
Sponsor smile.
Nothing to see here smile.
Nate stepped beside her, not touching. “Lemonade still works.”
She looked at him.
“I didn’t say it.”
“I know. I’m reminding you.”
“Do not be thoughtful. I’m busy being annoyed.”
“Multitask.”
A laugh almost escaped.
She murdered it.
They reached the featured table, which was somehow worse than advertised.
Name cards.
Actual name cards.
Ava stared at them in horror.
Ava Lane
Nate Brennan
Soren Lindqvist
Trevor Hale
Of course.
Of course Trevor’s card was directly across from hers.
Because the universe had woken up and chosen structured seating.
Ava stopped.
Nate stopped with her.
Soren approached from behind, read the cards, and said, “Poor arrangement.”
“Thank you, Goalie.”
“You’re welcome.”
Nate picked up Trevor’s name card.
Ava’s head snapped toward him. “What are you doing?”
“Solving a seating issue.”
“Rule two. No improvising.”
“This is logistics.”
“That is what men say before moving furniture emotionally.”
Nate looked at Soren. “Trade?”
Soren took Trevor’s name card from him, placed his own across from Ava, and moved Trevor’s two seats down beside Paulson.
Ava blinked.
“You both just did that very calmly.”
Soren sat across from her. “Efficient.”
Nate pulled out Ava’s chair, then stopped, hand on the chair back.
He looked at her.
Asking.
Not assuming.
Oh, this man was becoming a significant inconvenience.
Ava sat before she could think about it too much.
“Chair assistance is not touching,” she said.
“Good to know.”
“Do not make it a thing.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You absolutely would.”
“Maybe briefly.”
She took the water glass in front of her and drank before her face could betray anything.
The table filled quickly. Paulson, Denise, two local business owners, Soren, Nate, Ava, and finally Trevor, who arrived exactly late enough to make it feel intentional.
He noticed the seating change immediately.
His eyes flicked to his name card near Paulson.
Then to Ava.
Then to Nate.
Nate smiled politely.
Ava recognized the smile.
It was the kind of polite that had teeth behind it.
Trevor sat. “Looks like I got moved.”
Soren unfolded his napkin. “Yes.”
Trevor stared at him.
Soren stared back.
Ava pressed her lips together.
Nate leaned toward her very slightly. “Do not laugh.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were internally laughing.”
“My internal life is private.”
“Noted.”
Denise stood to welcome the sponsors, which allowed everyone to clap and pretend the table was not arranged around a silent war.
Lunch began with sandwiches, fruit, chips, and a cookie so large Ava briefly considered putting it in her purse for emotional support.
Nate noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He slid his cookie onto her plate without a word.
Ava looked down.
Then at him.
“What is that?”
“A cookie.”
“Why is it on my plate?”
“It looked like it wanted to be there.”
“Cookies don’t want.”
“This one did.”
“Are you trying to boyfriend through baked goods?”
“No touching. No improvising. Baked goods were not covered.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Loophole behavior.”
“Efficient,” Soren said from across the table.
Ava pointed at him. “Do not encourage him.”
Soren took a bite of his sandwich. “Too late.”
“Banned phrase,” Ava and Nate said together.
They looked at each other.
Mistake.
A large one.
Because for half a second, everything else softened. Trevor. The table. The bet. The fake boyfriend nonsense. All of it blurred around the edges, and Nate was just there, smiling at her like the joke belonged to them.
Their joke.
Not the team’s.
Not Trevor’s.
Theirs.
Ava looked away first.
Again.