Chapter Seven Ava #2
Trevor’s sponsor tent came into view.
Ava’s grip tightened on the handle.
Nate felt it. She knew he did, because his eyes flicked to her hand, then forward.
He did not look at Trevor.
He did not say anything.
He just shifted the cooler a little more toward himself.
Taking weight.
Not all of it.
Not enough to make her feel managed.
Just enough to make the path easier.
Ava hated him for being good at the exact thing she had not asked him to do.
Trevor stepped out from under the Hale Development tent as they passed.
“Ava,” he called, cheerful enough for witnesses. “Looking good.”
The cooler handle dug into her palm.
Nate’s jaw tightened, but he kept walking.
Good.
Good, because if he had stopped, she would have had to deal with two men and a cooler, and she only had emotional bandwidth for one object with questionable insulation.
Ava smiled forward. “Busy.”
“I can see that,” Trevor said, falling into step beside the course rope. “Team player now? That’s new.”
There it was.
The little blade wrapped in friendly.
Nate’s pace stayed even.
Ava could feel how much effort it cost him.
“Seasonal employment is full of surprises,” she said.
Trevor laughed. “Always quick.”
Ava reached the second cone.
Nate pivoted with her perfectly.
Too perfectly.
Their arms brushed.
Her skin went traitor again.
Trevor noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His smile sharpened. “You two move well together.”
Ava kept her eyes on the finish marker. “It’s a cooler, Trevor. Not a couples’ retreat.”
Behind them, Tyler yelled, “I would watch that retreat.”
Griffin yelled, “No one asked you.”
Nate’s mouth twitched, but he kept his gaze forward.
Trevor slowed near the rope. “Catch you after, Aves.”
Ava nearly dropped the cooler.
Aves.
One stupid nickname. Four letters. A whole year of being nineteen and flattered and trying not to want too much.
The cooler lurched.
Nate caught the weight immediately.
“Hey,” he said, low enough that only she heard. “With me.”
Not look at me.
Not ignore him.
With me.
Ava focused on the gravel path. On the handle. On the rhythm of Nate’s steps beside hers.
“I am not with you,” she said.
Her voice came out weaker than she wanted.
Nate’s answer was steady. “I know.”
That almost broke her more than Trevor had.
They crossed the cooler station line with Team One still in the lead.
The crowd cheered.
Ava set the cooler down and flexed her fingers.
Nate handed her his water bottle.
She stared at it.
“Logistical hydration?” she asked.
“Exactly.”
“You’re developing a brand.”
“Trying to stay consistent.”
She took the water.
Not because she needed it from him.
Because she was thirsty.
Obviously.
She drank, then handed it back. Their fingers did not touch this time.
She told herself she was relieved.
The third station was trivia toss, which sounded harmless until Ava discovered the trivia questions were about Ridgeview hockey history and Lake Briar summer policies.
“This is rigged,” she said.
Paulson smiled from the station table. “It is educational.”
“That is what people call things right before they become boring.”
Soren picked up the first foam ring. “We answer, then toss. Correct answers count. Wrong answers add five seconds.”
Ava looked at the question card Paulson held up.
“Question one,” Paulson said. “What year was Lake Briar’s current dock rebuilt?”
Ava blinked.
Nate whispered, “Do you know?”
“Do I look like dock ancestry is my passion?”
Soren said, “2018.”
Paulson nodded. “Correct.”
Ava turned to Soren. “Why do you know that?”
“There is a plaque.”
“Where?”
“On the dock.”
“Who reads plaques?”
“People who like winning.”
Ava stared at him with new respect. “Soren Lindqvist, you have earned your first name.”
Soren’s mouth barely moved. “Good.”
Nate placed a hand over his chest. “I’m happy for both of you.”
“You are still under review,” Ava said.
“How long does review take?”
“Depends on violations.”
“And recent performance?”
She looked at him.
The question hung there, double-edged and stupid.
Recent performance: held hand without exploiting it. Changed photo post. Brought coffee. Didn’t punch Trevor. Took cooler weight without making a speech.
Terrible.
Very bad for the file.
“Pending,” she said.
Nate’s smile went warm.
Soren tossed the ring and landed it on the center peg.
“Excellent,” Ava said.
Nate looked offended. “He gets excellent?”
“He reads plaques.”
“I bring coffee.”
“Coffee can be purchased. Plaque awareness is character.”
Nate laughed, and Ava’s chest did the thing.
Again.
She was going to need a specialist.
They moved through the trivia station with only one wrong answer, because Nate guessed the wrong year for Ridgeview’s first Frozen Four appearance and Soren looked personally betrayed.
“It was a trick question,” Nate said.
“It was your school,” Soren replied.
“There are many years.”
“There was one correct one.”
Ava patted Soren’s arm. “I’m sorry for your hardship.”
Nate pointed between them. “I don’t like this alliance.”
“You weren’t invited.”
“I’m on the team.”
“Barely.”
The fourth station waited near the shooting tarp.
Penalty shot target.
Finally, the part that actually belonged to hockey players.
Nate picked up a stick.
Ava had seen him joking, helping kids, carrying a cooler, and accidentally flirting with the structural integrity of his own face.
This was different.
The moment his hand closed around the stick, something settled.
The charm did not disappear exactly. It sharpened. Became focus. His shoulders lowered. His eyes went calm. His whole body knew what to do before anyone told it.
Ava forgot to make a joke.
Nate glanced at her. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s never true with you.”
“I’m observing.”
His gaze warmed. “Pattern recognition?”
“Maybe.”
“Should I be worried?”
Ava looked at the target holes.
Then back at him.
“Probably.”
His smile flickered.
Paulson held up the puck. “Team One, three shots. Staff partner can assign point value. Bottom corners are five, top corners are ten, center slot is fifteen. Misses add three seconds.”
Ava turned to Nate. “Can you hit the center slot?”
“Yes.”
No swagger.
No joke.
Just yes.
Ava’s pulse did something annoying.
“Then hit it.”
Soren’s eyebrows lifted.
Nate tilted his head. “That’s your strategy?”
“You said you could. I enjoy testing claims.”
“I noticed.”
The whistle blew.
Nate set the puck down.
Trevor stood in the edge of Ava’s vision near the sponsor rope.
She did not look at him.
She looked at Nate.
Nate pulled back and shot.
The puck snapped through the center slot so cleanly the crowd reacted half a second late.