Chapter 3 Ava
Chapter three
Ava
The moment I lift my head and our eyes meet, my pulse stumbles, then quickens.
We’re so close, just an inch away from a kiss that’s been waiting in the silence between us.
His scent wraps around me, warm cedar laced with bergamot, a trace of ink from hours spent tattooing and something else I can't quite put my finger on, so unique, so him.
It's intoxicating, and as always, being so close to him captivates me, making the walls I've built around my heart crack open even further.
And I know that someday, those walls will fall completely, and when they do, they’ll take my heart with them and it will be the end of me.
We stay like that, staring at each other for what could feel like seconds or hours, because time ceases to exist between us. We've always had a special connection, ever since the first day when the damn lock on my place wouldn't open.
But for some reason, it's been happening more often lately.
Whenever we're alone together, our bodies seem drawn together like a magnet.
We have to spend less time together; I have to guard my heart.
I can't fall in love with him. Fall in love more, you mean.
That damn little voice in my head keeps reminding me.
I blink, forcing myself to look away, to step back into reality but neither of us moves just yet. It’s as if we’re suspended in this charged moment, right on the edge of what we want, but I, at least, don't have the courage to tip that knife sharp edge.
“Ava,” he says softly, and the way he says my name, sounds like a prayer, like it’s something precious and it makes my throat tighten.
I know I should say something, crack a joke, and shift the mood. But my voice doesn’t come. Instead, I just look up at him, heart thudding, wondering if he can hear the way she’s pounding through my chest.
He lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. The touch is feather-light, but it burns me to the ground. His fingers linger for a second too long, and when they fall away, I already miss his touch.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low and careful, as he’s afraid he’ll break this spell between us.
No. I’m not. Not when I’m this close to falling for a man who’s everything I told myself I couldn’t have.
But I nod.
“Yeah. Just… tired.”
It’s not a lie. Loving him in silence, refusing to give us a chance, and not being brave enough is exhausting.
He doesn’t press. He just studies me for a moment longer, something flickering in his eyes, like he knows I’m not saying everything, but he’s letting it slide. For now.
I lean back. Space. I need space. Oxygen. Distance. I can’t breathe properly with him so close.
“Thanks again for dinner,” I say, forcing a smile, even though my heart is still tangled in his gaze.
“Anytime beautiful,” and the way he says it makes it sound like he means forever.
The movie ends, and we both watch the credits as if we'd noticed them.
"I'll help you clean up," Eli says, his voice tense.
I shake my head. "You paid for dinner. I'll take care of the rest."
I get up and start gathering the dinner containers.
Despite having told him I didn't need him to help, he takes the ones I couldn't carry on the first trip to the kitchen.
I throw things in the trash, he puts the glasses and silverware we used in the dishwasher, I take a new trash bag out of the drawer and remove the one that needs to be thrown away.
It all seems so domestic, as if we've done this a thousand times.
And maybe we have, but... not this... in sync.
As soon as we're done cleaning everything, Eli grabs his phone from the coffee table, comes over to me, kisses me on the forehead, and heads for the door with the trash bag.
"Uh, Eli?" I get his attention.
"Yes, babe." He turns to me curiously.
"Where are you going with the trash bag?" I ask, frowning.
"To throw it away, where else?" Eli tells me as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
"You don't have to do this. I'll take it down tomorrow when I get out." I don't need him to do these things for me. He's not my boyfriend, it's not his obligation.
"Don't worry, beautiful. It's no bother at all. See you tomorrow. Get some rest. Good night, Ava." He says as he opens the door and leaves. Before closing it behind him, he turns and says,
"Lock the door properly. See you tomorrow." He watches me, waiting for a response.
“Yes, sir,” I reply teasingly, rolling my eyes.
His gaze darkens instantly, and in that split second, I see a storm of emotions flicker across his face. Too many, too fast to name. But what I do catch is the low, primal growl that rumbles from his chest.
I blink, and suddenly Elijah is in front of me. The trash bag he was holding now lies forgotten by the door. One of his hands wraps around my throat, firm but not suffocating, just enough to make his dominance unmistakable, while the other one grabs my hip.
And holy hell… I want to die, because I think….no, I know, my panties have never been this soaked, this fast. I've never been so turned on in my entire life.
“The next time I see you roll those eyes at me,” he murmurs, voice low and menacing, our noses touching, our breaths mingling , “I’m going to put you over my knee and spank that perfect ass of yours until it turns a beautiful shade of red.
Understood, Princess?” His voice is so thick and full of arousal that it clouds my vision.
His voice fogs everything, thoughts, vision, reason.
I can’t speak. My brain has officially checked out. My eyes are wide enough to pop out of my skull, because Elijah Blacksmith, my four years best friend, the most dangerously sexy man I’ve ever known, just threatened to spank me.
And God help me, I’ve never wanted anything more.
His hand tightens slightly around my throat, a silent command to answer, while the one on my hip grips me so hard, I know I’ll find a bruise there tomorrow.
God, I hope I do.
I want the mark, the proof that this isn’t one of my late-night fantasies. That this is real, not just another wet dream where we get lost between the sheets, where he finally touches me like I’ve imagined a thousand times.
I nod. That’s all I can do.
Elijah nods and steps back, his gaze still devouring me like a wolf sizing up its next meal. He grabs the trash bag, walks out, and closes the door behind him without another word.
As soon as I hear the lock click, I go and throw the bolt. My forehead rests against the wood, and I exhale shakily.
This man is going to be the death of me.
And if I listen to my inner little slut, the one who hasn’t had sex in over six years, we’re going to die happily.
***
To say I didn’t sleep well last night would be the biggest understatement of the year.
The moment Elijah left my apartment, every buried insecurity came rushing back. It had been a long time since I’d felt so ugly… so fat… so completely unworthy of someone like him. Or anyone, for that matter.
Sleep didn’t come easy. And when it finally did, it betrayed me.
What started as a semi-erotic dream, Elijah and I, tangled in the sheets, wrapped in passion, twisted into a full-blown nightmare.
Right in the middle of everything, my ex-husband appeared with my mother.
Both of them telling me what I already feared deep down: that I wasn’t enough. That I was disgusting. That a man like Elijah, so stunning, so kind, so everything, shouldn’t even look at me, let alone touch me or even be my friend.
That I’ll die alone. That I couldn’t even keep a man almost twenty years older than me, that no man would ever want to touch me again. It cost me more than two years of therapy and a divorce I had asked for to stop that belief from resurfacing… and yet, here it is.
In the dream, Elijah climbed off me, his face twisted in disgust. He got dressed, turned to my mother and my ex with a smirk, and walked out laughing with them, like I’d been nothing more than a joke.
I woke up drenched in sweat, tears on my face, and the kind of nausea that comes from shame and heartbreak tangled together.
I threw up.
There was no going back to sleep after that. So I dragged myself into the shower, letting the hot water scald my skin until I felt human again, or at least something similar. Then I made myself a black tea, and dry toast. No coffee. My stomach couldn’t handle it.
Once I felt somewhat steady, I got dressed and headed to the shop.
Today was the big presentation. Hopefully, work would be enough to distract me, from the lingering touch of Elijah’s hands… and the cruel whispers of my subconscious that still echoed along my mother’s voice.
By the time I reach Books & Beans, the street is already humming with quiet morning life, dog walkers, a cyclist or two, people enjoying the morning sun, just walking, living. It’s comforting in its normalcy. Nothing like the chaos brewing in my chest.
I unlock the front door, and step inside. The familiar smell of fresh brewed coffee, books, and a hint of cinnamon still clings to the air. It's a smell I’ve come to love, the scent of my dream slowly becoming a reality.
Mia's already there, just finished setting up the mini muffins and stack of bookmarks next to the register with her usual caffeinated energy and bright red lipstick.
“You’re early,” I say, forcing a smile that I hope reads as casual.
She glances up, flashing me her signature grin.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Someone has to make this place look cute before people come storming in here.”
I chuckle softly. “You’re right. I’m lucky to have you.”
“Yes, you are,” she says, then narrows her eyes at me as she takes in my face. “You look tired. Everything okay?”
“I didn’t sleep well.” It’s the truth. Just not the whole truth.
Mia studies me for a beat longer, probably debating whether to push, but thankfully, she lets it go.
“Big day today. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” I move behind the counter, placing my bag down and taking a deep breath.