Chapter Three Ava #2
“I use it correctly.”
“You use it like a weapon.”
“And yet.”
His smile flashed.
Ava turned to the drink machine before hers could follow.
She filled a cup with lemonade. Extra ice. Because he had ordered it that way the first time, and her brain apparently retained useless details when attached to attractive disasters.
She wrote NATE on the cup.
Then paused.
Probably Annoying felt too familiar now.
Too much like a bit between them.
Ava did not need a bit.
She especially did not need a bit with a hockey player whose group chat had already turned her into a statistical event.
So she wrote nothing else.
She handed him the drink.
He looked down at the cup.
Then back up.
His face was unreadable for half a second before the smile returned.
“No commentary?”
“I retired.”
“After one cup?”
“Short career. Strong impact.”
“I was hoping for an updated file.”
“No.”
“Still under review?”
“Your account has been flagged for suspicious activity.”
He laughed, and Ava almost smiled again.
Almost.
The payment reader beeped.
This time, his card went through on the first try.
Ava slid him the receipt. “Congratulations. Financial growth.”
“I’m having a big day.”
“Try not to peak before dinner.”
“Is that concern?”
“That is customer service.”
“Very warm.”
“We are known for our hospitality.”
Nate leaned one forearm on the counter.
Ava looked at the forearm.
Again.
She was starting to resent forearms as a concept.
“Question,” he said.
“No.”
“You don’t know what I’m asking.”
“You look like you’re about to ask something that begins with hypothetically.”
He paused. “That is concerningly accurate.”
“I have pattern recognition.”
“Right. Patterns.” His eyes held hers. “Hypothetically.”
“No.”
“If the bet were to continue without your name attached.”
“No.”
“And without you being content.”
“Still no.”
“And purely as a team stupidity containment exercise.”
“That phrase sounds illegal.”
“Would you still vote against me?”
Ava folded her arms. “Are you asking if I believe you can survive the summer without falling in love?”
“Hypothetically.”
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted.
She let the answer sit.
Nate watched her for a second, then asked, “Why not?”
Ava should have said something flippant.
Because you have cheekbones and no survival instincts.
Because men like you think discipline is a personality until someone laughs at the right time.
Because you looked at me like I was a challenge, and I know what men do with challenges.
But the truth rose first.
Because you want to be seen more than you want to admit.
She shoved that sentence back where it belonged.
In a locked cabinet.
On fire.
“Because you’re competitive,” she said instead. “And competitive people are terrible at ignoring things they’ve been told they can’t win.”
His gaze sharpened.
“There it is,” he said softly.
Ava stilled. “There what is?”
“You noticing.”
“I notice everything. It’s how I avoid getting murdered at gas stations.”
“Good skill.”
“Essential.”
He leaned a fraction closer. “So what else have you noticed?”
Absolutely not.
Ava reached for a towel and wiped down the counter between them with aggressive professionalism. “That you’re in the way of paying customers.”
There were no paying customers.
He looked pointedly at the empty space around him.
Ava glared.
Nate lifted his lemonade. “Noted.”
He stepped aside but did not walk away.
Ava pretended not to notice.
She stocked straws.
He stood there.
She rearranged napkins.
He sipped lemonade.
She refilled the ketchup pump.
He watched her like the ketchup pump was suddenly fascinating.
Finally, she turned. “Do you need something else?”
“Yes.”
She waited.
He smiled.
“Your last name.”
Ava blinked. “No.”
“Strict policy?”
“Extremely.”
“I gave you mine.”
“You gave it to the register.”
“And emotionally?”
“Your emotions are between you and the lemonade.”
His smile grew. “Come on. I’m trying not to call you Snack Shack Ava.”
“How noble.”
“I’m showing growth.”
“You’ve overused that defense.”
“I’m developing a theme.”
Ava should not give him her last name.
Names made people real.
First names were bad enough. First names were how group chats happened. Last names were how people found you on social media, noticed your mother’s comments, asked questions, remembered things.
She did not want Nate Brennan remembering things.
But then Ellie passed behind Ava carrying a tub of ice and said, “It’s Lane.”
Ava turned slowly. “Ellie.”
Ellie smiled brightly. “What? He was going to find out when the schedule gets posted.”
Nate’s expression did something Ava did not appreciate.
Softened, maybe.
Just a little.
“Ava Lane,” he said.
“No.”
“I’m just saying it.”
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you sound like you’re testing it.”
His gaze stayed steady. “Maybe I am.”
Ellie made a squeaking sound and disappeared toward the freezer.
Ava wanted to follow her just to throw ice.
Instead, she looked Nate dead in the eye. “Test failed.”
“Harsh.”
“Efficient.”
“Do I get a retake?”
“No.”
His smile did not move, but something in it changed again. Less public. Less easy.
“Okay,” he said.
Just okay.
No push. No joke. No second attempt.
That should have been a relief.
It was.
Mostly.
Then Tyler shouted from the deck, “NATE! NEW CHALLENGE BOARD IS UP!”
Nate closed his eyes for one beat, then glanced over his shoulder.
A large whiteboard had been rolled near the deck entrance. Paulson stood beside it with a marker and the expression of a man actively questioning his career path.
Players crowded around the board.
Kids followed.
Parents lifted phones.
Ava had a bad feeling.
A very bad feeling.
Nate looked back at her. “I should probably supervise.”
“You supervise?”
“Sometimes by example.”
“Of what not to do?”
“Also yes.”
He started to leave, then stopped.
Ava knew before he spoke that she was not going to like whatever came next.
“Just for the record,” he said, “I’m not trying to win anything with you.”
Her stomach did the small stupid thing again.
She hated it more this time.
Nate’s voice stayed quiet. “But I am going to win the summer challenge.”
“Good luck.”
“Don’t need it.”
“There’s the smug.”
“Intermittent,” he reminded her.
“Persistent.”
He grinned, then turned and walked toward the board.
Ava watched him go.
Only because he was headed toward the source of possible workplace disruption.
Not because his shoulders looked unfair in that shirt.
Not because he had said her name like it mattered.
Not because, for one flickering second, she had believed him when he said he was not trying to win anything with her.
Ellie reappeared beside her. “You are so doomed.”
Ava grabbed a stack of napkins. “I am employed.”
“You are flushed.”
“It is hot.”
“It is seventy-four degrees.”
“I have a medical condition.”
“Called Nate?”
Ava pointed at her. “You’re fired from friendship.”
“We’re not friends. We met today.”
“Then you’re fired from whatever this is.”
Ellie leaned on the counter. “He’s cute.”
“He’s trouble.”
“Cute trouble.”
“Still trouble.”
“Respectful trouble.”
“The most dangerous kind.”
Ava looked toward the challenge board despite herself.
Nate stood with the other players, arms folded, head tilted as Paulson wrote something across the top.
The crowd shifted.
Ava could see the words now.
OPENING WEEK CHALLENGE: STAFF PARTNER RELAY
Ava froze.
Ellie sucked in a breath. “Oh.”
Paulson wrote beneath it:
Each player team must partner with one Lake Briar staff member for Saturday’s kickoff event.
Ava set the napkins down very carefully.
“No,” she said.
Ellie’s eyes gleamed. “Oh yes.”
“No.”
On the deck, Tyler turned slowly toward the snack shack.
Then Beckett.
Then Miles.
Then half the team.
Finally, Nate.
Their eyes met across the deck.
Ava lifted one finger and mouthed, absolutely not.
Nate looked at the board.
Then back at her.
Then Tyler said something Ava could not hear, and the entire team burst into laughter.
Nate did not laugh.
He just looked at Ava with an expression that said he was already calculating how much worse this could get.
Paulson called out, “Staff sign-ups open now.”
The snack shack door swung open behind Ava.
A woman from lake management stepped in with a clipboard.
Ava stared at it like it was a snake.
“Ava,” her manager said brightly, “great news. Since you’re new, I signed you up first.”
Across the deck, Nate Brennan’s face changed.
Ava had no idea whether it was panic, apology, or victory.
Then Tyler’s voice carried clearly through the open window.
“CALLAHAN, LOOKS LIKE YOUR SUMMER JUST GOT A PARTNER.”
Ava closed her eyes.
And knew, with absolute certainty, that the bet had just found a way to stand directly beside her on Saturday.