Chapter 10 Dylan #2
My heart hammers. Once again, it felt so casual, so easy, like it's the most natural thing in the world. Something warm blooms in my chest, spreading through my ribs until I can't help the smile that takes over my face.
Now, I'm at home, cooking pasta from scratch, the way my mother taught me. The rhythmic motion of kneading dough helps settle my nerves, gives my hands something to do while my mind processes the day.
I remember Avery agreeing to sit across from Oliver, finding closure, choosing herself.
Choosing us.
The sauce simmers on the stove, filling my penthouse with the smell of garlic and basil.
I set the table carefully—good plates, wine glasses, the candles my mother gave me that I've never used because I've never had anyone worth using them for.
The city spreads below my windows, lights beginning to twinkle as evening falls.
Everything feels charged with possibility.
When the doorbell rings at 7:03, my heart kicks into a faster rhythm. I open the door, and there she is.
Avery looks different. Lighter, unburdened, like she's set down a weight she's been carrying for too long. She's changed into jeans and a soft sweater, her hair down around her shoulders, and when she smiles at me, it reaches her eyes in a way I haven't seen before.
"Hey," she says softly.
I pull her into my arms without a word. She comes willingly, fitting against me like she belongs there.
We stand in my doorway for a long moment, just holding each other, and I remember how close I came to losing this.
A few days ago, she asked for space, and I thought maybe she'd never come back.
How I spent those days functioning on autopilot, going through the motions while feeling hollow inside.
Now she's here, solid and real in my arms, and I've never been more grateful for patience.
She smiles softly and says, "Tell me about the meeting."
So I tell her about the documentation I presented, about the way Richard tried to make it about optics instead of merit. I tell her about my father stepping in, about Harrison's support.
"It wasn't unanimous," I admit. "Richard and two others abstained. There will still be gossip, there will still be people who question your qualifications. But we have official board support now. That's huge."
Avery's eyes shine with something that might be tears. "Your father really said that? That I match your ambition and integrity?"
"He did. And he meant it." I squeeze her hand gently. "He also told me to bring you to Sunday dinner again. Mom's been planning the menu for days, apparently."
She laughs, and the sound fills my chest with warmth. "I love your family."
"They love you too."
We finish dinner and move to the living room, settling on the couch with fresh glasses of wine.
The city glitters below us through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and Avery curls into my side like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Like she belongs here. Like this is where she's always meant to be.
I kiss her then, slow and deep, pouring everything I feel into the contact. Love and relief and gratitude and hope. When we break apart, both breathing hard, I rest my forehead against hers.
"I love you," I tell her, and this time when she says it back, there's no fear in her eyes. Just certainty. Just a choice to be with me.
"I love you too," she whispers. "And I'm sorry it took me so long to be brave enough to say it without reservations."
"You were worth the wait."
We stay like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other while the city hums below. Then Avery pulls back slightly, a smile playing at her lips.
"So what happens now? What's next for us?"
"Now we show them," I say simply. "We show everyone who doubted you that you earned your position on merit. That you continue to excel regardless of our relationship. That loving you was the smartest decision I ever made because you make me better at everything I do."
She kisses me again, quick and sweet. "What did I do to deserve you?"
"Exist. That's pretty much it. Low bar, I know."
She laughs, settling back against my chest. My arm comes around her automatically, and we sit in comfortable silence for a while. The wine sits forgotten on the coffee table.
The silence speaks of comfort and understanding, and not needing to fill every moment with words.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I ignore it, but Avery reaches for it before I can stop her.
"It's Jake," she says, reading the screen. "He's asking if I want anything in particular to celebrate. I’m partial to the chicken myself."
The casual way she reads my texts feels significant somehow. Like we've crossed some invisible threshold into something more permanent, more real.
"Do you really want to go?" I ask. “There’s no pressure.”
She looks at me like I've asked something absurd. "Of course I want to go. Your family is wonderful."
"They are."
I take the phone from her and type a quick response to Jake: We'll be there. Tell Mom that Avery says the chicken is her favorite.
"That's not what I said," Avery protests.
"It's what you meant."
She laughs and settles back against me, and I realize with stunning clarity that this is what my father meant about taking risks.
Loving Avery isn't just worth the risk. It's the best decision I've ever made.
Better than rebuilding the company, better than any acquisition, merger, or business deal.
This woman in my arms, choosing me despite her fear, trusting me with her heart despite everything she's been through—this is what matters.
"Stay," I say quietly.
"I was planning to head home soon—"
"No, I mean stay. Tonight. Tomorrow. However long you want.
" I pull back to look at her directly. "I know we said we'd go slow, and we can.
But Avery, I don't want you to leave. I want you here.
I want to wake up with you tomorrow and make you terrible coffee and argue about contract law over breakfast."
She studies my face, and I can see her processing, considering. "Are you sure? That's a big step."
"I'm sure. But only if you're ready. No pressure."
For a long moment, she doesn't answer. Then a slow smile spreads across her face. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay, I'll stay." She kisses me softly. "But I’m making the coffee. We both know it'll be terrible, but you’ll drink it anyway."
I laugh, relief and joy flooding through me in equal measure. "Deal. You make the coffee, I'll make breakfast."
"Now that's a partnership I can get behind."
Later, we're lying in my bed. Avery curled against my chest. She falls asleep within minutes, her breathing evening out into the gentle rhythm of rest. I stay awake a bit longer, watching the fog roll across the city, listening to Avery breathe, thinking about the future we're building together.
I remember my father's words: That woman is worth fighting for.
I plan to spend the rest of my life proving it.