Chapter Twelve Nate #2
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
Ava studied him. “About Trevor?”
“About Trevor. About me. About the boyfriend thing. About whatever Tyler is probably adding to column prison right now.”
Ava huffed a laugh.
Then she looked toward the sponsor tents.
Trevor stood near the Hale Development banner with two men in polos and one woman holding a plastic cup. He was laughing. Easy. Public. Perfectly nice.
Nate watched Ava watch him.
This time, her face did not close.
It hardened.
“I don’t want him thinking he made me panic,” she said.
“You didn’t.”
“I did a little.”
“You also handled him.”
“Both can be true.”
“Yes.”
That seemed to matter.
Ava took a breath. “I don’t want a fake boyfriend.”
Nate ignored the immediate, stupid drop in his stomach.
“Good,” he said. “Because that’s a bad idea.”
“Exactly.”
“Very bad.”
“Awful.”
“Structurally unsound.”
“Emotionally flammable.”
“Tyler would make charts.”
“Multiple charts.”
They looked at each other.
Ava’s eyes were bright with humor now, but there was something under it.
Something asking.
Something afraid to ask.
Nate knew that feeling too well to joke over it.
“But,” he said.
Her breath caught.
He kept his voice low. “If you want me to stand beside you when he’s around, I can do that. Not as your fake boyfriend. Not as a bet. Not for the group chat. Just because you asked.”
Ava looked at him for a long time.
“That sounds dangerously decent,” she said.
“I’m trying not to overdo it.”
“You are failing.”
“Noted.”
She looked down at her shoes.
Then back up.
“And if I need you to hold my hand again?”
Nate’s pulse took the question personally.
He made himself answer like a man with a functioning brain.
“Then I will.”
“And you won’t make it weird?”
“Define weird.”
“Smiling like Tyler invented a holiday.”
“I can control my face.”
Ava lifted one brow.
“Sometimes,” he amended.
“And you won’t assume it means anything?”
That one landed harder.
Because it did mean something.
Maybe not what Tyler thought. Maybe not what Trevor thought. Maybe not what a photo caption or a spreadsheet or a summer bet would make of it.
But it meant trust.
Temporary, reluctant, furious trust.
And Nate was not careless enough to pretend that was nothing.
“I won’t assume,” he said.
Ava nodded.
“Good.”
Then, because apparently neither of them had any survival instincts, they kept standing there.
Near the fire.
Near the lake.
Close enough that Nate could see the glow of the flames move across her cheek.
Close enough that Ava’s arm almost brushed his.
Close enough that not touching felt louder than touching.
The speaker music shifted to something slower.
Ava looked toward it immediately. “No.”
Nate followed her gaze.
Several couples had drifted closer to the grass near the fire where the lights made a loose circle. Not dancing exactly. More like swaying with plausible deniability.
Tyler appeared on the far side of the bonfire and pointed both hands at Nate like he had been summoned by romantic weakness.
Nate pointed back in warning.
Tyler mimed zipping his mouth shut, then immediately turned to Miles and whispered something.
Ava sighed. “He is going to make this a thing.”
“He makes weather a thing.”
“True.”
Nate looked at her. “We can leave.”
“We?”
“Team One. Group exit. Soren can make it feel administrative.”
She laughed.
“That is tempting.”
“But?”
Her gaze moved toward Trevor again.
Trevor was watching now.
Of course.
Ava lifted her chin.
Nate knew that look.
Pride with a bruise under it.
“But I am tired of leaving places because he is in them,” she said.
Nate felt that sentence settle in him.
Clean. Heavy. True.
“Then stay,” he said.
Ava looked back at him.
He offered his hand.
Not reaching for her.
Just offering.
Her eyes dropped to it.
“This is not fake boyfriend behavior,” she said.
“No.”
“This is not for the bet.”
“No.”
“This is not because Tyler has columns.”
“Never because Tyler has columns.”
Her mouth curved.
Then she put her hand in his.
Nate’s entire body went quiet.
Not calm.
Quiet.
Like every loud, competitive, restless part of him had stopped to listen.
He led her toward the edge of the grass, not the center, because Ava did not seem like the kind of woman who wanted to be displayed. She seemed like the kind who wanted the option to bolt if the emotional oxygen changed.
He understood that better than he wanted to.
They did not really dance.
Not at first.
They stood there, hands joined, shoulders almost touching, while the fire cracked and the music moved around them.
Ava stared forward. “This is ridiculous.”
“Very.”
“I am doing this out of spite.”
“Valid motive.”
“And because my feet hurt, so technically standing still is practical.”
“Efficient.”
“And because if Tyler starts singing, I need to be close enough to stop him.”
“Public service.”
She glanced at him. “You agree too easily.”
“I’m trying to make this not weird.”
“It is weird.”
“Then I’m trying to make it less weird.”
Ava looked down at their hands.
“It’s not terrible,” she said.
Nate smiled before he could stop himself.
Her head snapped up. “Do not make that face.”
“What face?”
“The won-a-faceoff-with-feelings face.”
“That is very specific.”
“You have a specific face.”
“You’ve been watching me.”
“I observe threats.”
“Am I a threat?”
The question came out softer than he meant it to.
Ava’s answer did not come right away.
Her fingers shifted in his.
“I haven’t decided,” she said.
That should not have felt like hope.
It did.
The music continued. The fire burned lower. Around them, the night settled into something that almost looked harmless.
Then Ava’s phone buzzed again.
Nate felt her hand tense.
She did not pull away this time.
She looked at the screen.
Her face changed.
Not fear.
Shock.
Then something like horror.
“What?” Nate asked.
Ava turned the phone toward him.
It was not Trevor.
It was a text from her mother.
MOM: Denise just sent me the Ridgeview post. You have a boyfriend and did not tell me?
A second bubble appeared while Nate was still reading.
MOM: Bring him to Sunday dinner tomorrow. I already told your grandmother.
Ava stared at the screen.
Nate stared too.
Across the fire, Tyler yelled, “WHY DOES AVA LOOK LIKE SHE JUST SAW GOD?”
Ava slowly lifted her eyes to Nate.
The flames reflected in them.
“Brennan,” she said carefully.
His heart already knew the question before she asked it.
“How do you feel about grandmothers?”