19. AVA
AVA
Greedy
The key fits on the first try.
I push the door open and the smell of fresh plastic hits me before anything else.
He wasn't exaggerating about the floors. They're a warm honey oak, freshly sealed, gleaming under south-facing windows that pour light across the empty room in wide, generous strokes.
I stand in the doorway with my bag on my shoulder and the key still warm in my fist and try to remember how breathing works.
Kai bought me a studio.
Not rented or lent. Bought with my name on the deed, a key on a leather tag with the address stamped into it.
I walk the perimeter, my footsteps echoing. The reception area is just inside the entrance, separated from the main room by a half wall.
The architecture firm probably used it for blueprints and display boards. I'll use it for client mood boards. Fabric swatches pinned in rows. Paint chips fanned by palette. Material samples organized by texture and weight.
The drafting space sits deeper in, tucked near the second bank of windows. I could work here from sunrise without switching on a lamp.
The client meeting room is small, glass-walled, private enough for presentations but connected enough to feel like part of the studio. A long table would go in here, plants in the corners.
I set my bag on the floor in the center of the main room and turn a slow circle.
This is mine.
The thought cracks a deep, hungry craving in me.
I want this life.
I want to walk into this room every morning and go home to Kai every night. Where Biscuit sleeps at the foot of our bed and the baby has his brown eyes and my stubbornness.
The wanting is so specific it scares me.
Because specificity means I've been building this picture in the background longer than I realized, while I was busy telling myself we were fake dating, then real dating, then just seeing where things go.
My heart built a future I never gave it permission to.
I press my back against the wall and slide down until I'm sitting on the pristine floors.
Steady, Ava. He can't even remember meeting you.
Kai got his memories back yesterday.
But I’m the one piece his brain can't find.
When he eventually remembers, he'll discover a woman he took home once. A hookup he was charming enough to get a number from and too concussed to ever call.
The man who bought me this studio believes I rebuilt his life out of love.
But I'm also the woman who hid the pregnancy of his baby, let him fall for an incomplete version of me.
When the truth comes out, this studio won't be a well-deserved gift.
My phone buzzes in my bag. It’s Mom.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Have you eaten today?”
“I’ve eaten three times today, Mom. It’s already noon.”
“Snacking doesn’t count.”
“It wasn’t a snack—I had two bowls of oatmeal, a plate of eggs, and half a sleeve of bagels.”
“Well, bread is not a proper foundation,” her mother insisted, unfazed. “You’re eating like a linebacker, but are any of those calories green? You need actual vegetables.” She pauses, her voice softening. “How are you feeling, though? Any more dizziness?”
"No dizziness. The new prenatals are helping."
"Good. And the antibody levels?"
"The next blood draw is Tuesday. Dr. Fernandez says the titers are holding steady. If they stay where they are, we might avoid the transfusion entirely. She's cautiously optimistic, which I think is doctor speak for 'stop calling me between appointments.'"
"That's a relief." But her voice doesn't sound relieved. "How's work? Are you managing the new clients and the appointments?"
"It’s better now, actually." I glance around the empty studio. "Kai bought me a studio space."
She’s silent for a while.
"Did you mean he bought it, or he simply leased it for you?"
"Mom,” I whisper, “the floors are nicer than anything I've ever designed for a client and I'm trying not to have a breakdown about it."
"Ava, that man is in love with you."
"It was a thank-you present," I say weakly.
"A man doesn't hand a woman a deed to a building because he's thankful. He does it because he sees a future and he's making room for her in it."
The accuracy of that sentence makes my ribs ache.
"Tell me about Kai, and I don't mean the studio. Are you together?"
My fingers tighten on the phone. "We're... it's not straightforward."
"How is it not straightforward? You spend almost every day with him. He takes you to dinner. He bought you a place of business. What part of that needs qualifying?"
"The part where our entire relationship is built on information he doesn't have."
"Then give him the information."
"It's not that simple."
"It is exactly that simple. You tell the man the truth about the baby then let him decide what to do with it instead of deciding for him."
"You don't understand what's at stake."
"I understand what it costs to have a good man standing right in front of you," she says, voice wavering.
"Mom, that's not..."
"Your father was charming. He was exciting and warm and he made me feel like I was the only woman in the world. What he was not, is not and never will be, is reliable. I didn't know the difference at your age because nobody taught me."
I place my head in my hands.
"But you know the difference because I raised you to see it, Ava. Kai shows up and he stays. He pays attention to what you need and he acts on it without being asked. I spent twenty years wishing your father would do that."
"I know he's not Dad."
"Then stop punishing him for what Dennis did to me.
" Her breath catches. "Baby, I didn't raise you to be this afraid.
I raised you to be brave and strong and capable and every wonderful thing you already are.
But I also raised you in a home where love let you down.
And I will carry that guilt for the rest of my life. "
The tears come without warning. Silent, tracking down my cheeks and falling onto the honey oak floors of the studio Kai bought me because he thinks I'm someone worth investing in.
"I don't want to watch my daughter spend her life protecting herself from the thing that would make her happiest."
My throat is so tight I can barely get air through it.
She's right. I know she's right.
But knowing and doing are separated by a distance I can't figure out how to cross.
"Tell him soon, Ava. Soon. Before the secret gets heavier than the love."
We talk for a while longer. She asks about the studio layout and I describe the space. Her voice warms as she listens, and I can hear her picturing me in it. By the time we hang up, she sounds steadier.
I don't feel steadier. I feel cracked wide open.
The rest of the day is filled with client emails and appointments. I bury myself in work because work doesn't ask questions my heart can't answer yet.
By midnight, Biscuit is curled at my feet and my brain is running laps it won't finish.
At two a.m., the craving hits.
It’s a hostage takeover where sleep, comfort, and basic functioning are suspended.
Of all things, I want to eat fresh, cold, ripe mango with lime juice and Tajín.
In a city where everything good closes at eleven and everything open past midnight serves cocktails and poor decisions.
I try negotiating with myself for several miserable minutes.
You don't need mango. You need sleep. Close your eyes and think about anything other than the texture of cold mango on your tongue.
My mouth waters so hard I almost choke.
I pick up the phone, stare at the screen, and put it down then pick it up again.
I call Kai.
He answers on the second ring. He’s clear and alert, like he’s been awake.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I can't sleep and I need something."
"What do you need?"
"This is going to sound unhinged."
"Most things sound unhinged at this hour. What do you need, Ava?"
"Fresh mango with lime and Tajín. And I need it badly enough that I'm calling you instead of handling this like an adult."
Fabric shifts on his end. The sound of someone getting out of bed.
"I know a spot in Koreatown that's open late. They sell cut fruit outside."
"You know a spot." I smile, pressing my face into the pillow. "Of course you know a spot."
"I’ll be at your door in thirty minutes to an hour."
"Kai, you don't have to..."
"Expect me soon, Ava."
He hangs up.
I stare at the ceiling while my dog judges me from the foot of the bed.
"This is a fruit emergency," I tell Biscuit. "It's not romantic."
She barks then puts her head down with a sigh that sounds like disagreement.
In less time than expected, he's at my door holding a brown paper bag. A cutting board is tucked under his arm. He’s wearing joggers and a hoodie, his dark hair pushed back.
"You brought a cutting board."
"You wanted lime on it. I wasn't going to make you slice it yourself at two in the morning."
He walks into my kitchen and unpacks three mangos, a bag of limes, Tajín, and a container of something dark red.
"What's that?"
"Chamoy."
"I didn't ask for chamoy."
"You didn't know you wanted it."
He slices the mango, the knife moving through the flesh in straight lines. He fans the slices on a plate, squeezes lime, dusts Tajín, and drizzles chamoy in a thin line.
He slides the plate across the counter. The first bite makes my eyes close.
Sweet. Tangy. Spicy.
The mango is perfectly ripe and cold from the night air. The lime cuts through the sweetness and my entire body exhales.
A sound leaves my throat, close enough to a moan that Kai's brown eyes darken.
"Good?"
"If you ever leave me, I want custody of this mango."
His mouth curves. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me eat.
He doesn’t ask why I need mango at two in the morning. He doesn’t question the desperation or the specificity. He just drove across the city, brought his own cutting board, and now stands in my kitchen looking at me like feeding me is the only thing that matters.
If only he knew he was feeding his own child.
I eat the mango while pressure builds behind my eyes that I refuse to release. Biscuit sits at Kai's feet, chin on his shoe. He reaches down and scratches behind her ear without looking away from me.
"Come to bed," he says. "Bring the mango."
"You're staying?"
"I drove here with a cutting board at two in the morning. I'm not driving back."
I look at him, hand reaching for my hip, thumb finding the strip of bare skin between my sleep shirt and shorts. His warmth spreads into my side and settles somewhere deep.
I want him every night.
Greedy, I think. You're being greedy, Ava.
But I take his hand and lead him to my bedroom anyway.
He pulls me against his chest in the dark. His arm drapes across my waist. His breathing slows, deepens, steadies into the rhythm I've come to depend on.
And I lie awake, pressed against the warmth of him, my hand covering his where it rests on my stomach.
Right on the secret that can end everything.