Chapter 15 Ava
Chapter fifteen
Ava
You know that feeling when everything is finally falling into place?
The store is thriving, the stalker has stopped sending flowers and notes, and my relationship with Elijah—Daddy—is nothing short of perfect.
He’s better than any book boyfriend I’ve ever read about.
Not a day goes by without him making me feel wanted, cherished.
He may not say the words I love you just yet, but I see it in everything he does.
And every day, I feel myself getting closer to being able to say them too.
So yeah… things are good. Peaceful. Safe.
Which is exactly when the universe decides to throw a wrench in it.
Because apparently, I can’t have too much happiness without some kind of cosmic slap. And this time? It comes in the form of her. My mother.
Of course she shows up now—right when I’m finally starting to feel like I’m healing. Like I’m whole. Like I can actually see a future that doesn’t hurt to imagine.
It’s like she knows I’m happy and can’t stand it. Like her sole purpose is to undo all the progress I’ve made with Elijah—every soft word, every patient look, every ounce of confidence I’ve fought so hard to build.
One look at her, and I already feel that old familiar tug… the one that tells me I’m not enough.
But not this time. Not if I can help it.
“Well,” my mother says, giving the shop a once-over with her arms crossed and one perfectly arched brow lifted, “it’s cute.
A little cluttered. But cute.” Says the woman that In the four years I've owned the store, this is the second time she's set foot in.
The first time we weren't even open yet, and it took me weeks to delete or at least muffle her words.
I swallow hard. I’m standing behind the counter, fingers clenched around a damp cloth I didn’t even realize I was still holding. “Thanks,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s been going really well.”
She lets out a soft, pitying laugh that slices right through me. “Of course, darling. But you know these things don’t last forever. These little… projects.”
“It’s not a project, Mom,” I say, jaw tightening. “It’s my business.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she says, waving a hand like she’s brushing away a crumb. “It’s just… you were never exactly a businesswoman. Always better with books than with people.”
That familiar heat flares up in my chest, crawling up my neck like it always does when her voice hits that condescending, sugary tone. Shame. Old and well-practiced.
“And your health,” she adds, dropping her voice in that quiet, loaded way that always lands like a slap.
“I just hope you’re not running yourself into the ground trying to play entrepreneur. You’re not exactly a twenty-something anymore. I hope you're not eating all these pastries you have around here, or the junk food I've seen being sold in this… neighborhood.”
She says, as if this weren't one of the best neighborhoods in the city. It's in the oldest part of the city, where the buildings are art and you can still breathe the beauty of where all the artists used to come together to live and share their talents.
I set the cloth down carefully. My hands are shaking. I'm about to say something, Elijah walks into the shop, I don’t know what to do.
My mother is standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, one of her carefully manicured brows arched as she surveys the space like she’s judging a school project. I haven’t told her anything about our relationship development.
Not really, it's the way her words bruise, how easily her voice can strip away my confidence, leaving nothing but dust.
Now she’s here. And I’m afraid. Afraid that her criticism, the kind that always sounds like concern to everyone else, will make Elijah see me the way she does. And leave.
He’s barely through the door when our eyes meet.
He sees it immediately. The tension in my shoulders, the way my mouth doesn’t know how to form a smile. The storm behind my eyes.
And he doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t even glance at her. He walks straight to me and kisses me, soft, sure, and without apology. One hand finds the small of my back, the other brushes a piece of hair behind my ear, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
“You okay baby girl?”he asks softly. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and just give him a small nod. “Better now.”
“Well, well,well” mom says, voice clipped, “I see your relationship has… changed.”
Elijah doesn’t pull away. Not really. He stays close, fingers still anchored to me like a quiet shield.
“It has,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “Took me a while, but I finally got her to want to make an honest man out of me.” His voice is calm, sure.
Proud. Like there was never any doubt I was worth waiting for.
My mother tilts her head, smile tight. “I’m sure she’s grateful for the attention. Lord knows she doesn’t always make things easy for herself. This shop eats up every ounce of her time and energy, like she’s married to the damn place. No wonder she’s still single.”
I stiffen.
But Elijah’s whole demeanor shifts, subtle, but sharp.
His tone stays calm, but there’s a steel edge to it now.
“With all due respect, Tina, what Ava’s built here isn’t just impressive, it’s brave.
She didn’t just open a shop, she created a space where people feel safe.
Seen. She’s taken her dream and made it real, piece by piece, with grit and heart.
You’d be amazed how many lives she touches just by being exactly who she is.
And for the record, she’s not single anymore.
She’s with me. She’s mine and I’m hers.”
Mom lifts her chin. “I didn’t mean—”
He meets her gaze, steady and unflinching.
“Oh I know what you meant. That comment wasn’t just about her being alone.
It was meant to diminish her, and us. To reduce what she’s built, who she is, and what we have.
But that version of her? The one you keep trying to bring up?
She doesn’t exist anymore. And I won’t let you talk about her like she does. ”
I can only stare. Stunned. My heart is pounding, not with fear this time, but with something like awe.
My mother draws back slightly, lips parting in a faint scoff. “Well, I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to have an opinion.”
Elijah doesn’t flinch. “You’re allowed your opinion. But don’t mistake that for permission to disguise judgment as concern. Especially not when it comes to someone who’s done nothing but rise, despite everything.”
She glances between us, lips pursed. “Well. I suppose it’s good that someone appreciates her little bookstore.”
Elijah steps forward slightly, still calm, still steady. “It’s not little. It’s hers. And it’s thriving. And if you can’t see the value in that, or in her, that’s your loss.”
Silence falls, thick and sharp. My throat burns. My eyes sting.
Mom clears her throat. “I should be going.”
I nod. Say nothing. The door closes behind her with a jingle that sounds like a period at the end of a sentence I’ve been trying to finish for years.
Elijah turns to me. “You okay Baby?”
I shake my head a little, still stunned. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t have to,” he says, wrapping me in his arms. “Just know this, you’re not alone anymore. Not with her. Not with any of it.”
And in that moment—safe in his arms, warm in a shop I built with my own hands—I believe him.