Chapter Eighteen Nate #2
A dangerous one.
She was laughing at something Ellie said, head tipped back slightly, one hand on the edge of the table. Not the sharp little laugh she used as a shield. A real one. Open for half a second before she caught herself and looked around as if joy required witnesses to be managed.
Then she saw him.
Her smile did not disappear.
It changed.
Got smaller.
More private.
Nate’s chest tightened.
Bad.
Very bad.
He started toward her.
Tyler stepped into his path wearing a shirt that read TEAM THREE and an expression that meant crimes.
“Before you see your almost-girlfriend,” Tyler said, “I need to clarify our public stance.”
Nate looked at him. “No.”
“I haven’t said the stance.”
“You said public.”
“Fair.”
Griffin appeared behind Tyler and placed a hand on his shoulder. “He is under restrictions.”
“I am under growth,” Tyler said.
“Restrictions,” Griffin repeated.
Beckett leaned in. “The spreadsheet has been archived.”
Nate narrowed his eyes. “Archived where?”
“Emotionally.”
“Delete it.”
“One cannot delete history.”
Soren walked past them carrying two water bottles. “One can delete a file.”
“Et tu, goalie?” Beckett said.
Soren handed Nate a water bottle. “Hydrate. You’re already making the face.”
“What face?”
Four teammates pointed toward Ava.
Nate took the water and left.
Ava watched him approach, eyes narrowed. “Your team just held a small council.”
“They hold many councils. Few survive minutes.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Generally, yes. Specifically, not yet.”
“Comforting.”
He handed her the water bottle.
She took it. “Logistical hydration has returned.”
“Persistent brand.”
“Do not be proud of that.”
“Too late.”
Her eyes flashed.
He smiled. “I did that one on purpose.”
“Dangerous.”
“Persistent,” he said.
Ellie, standing beside Ava, slowly lifted both hands as if blessing them. “This is almost unbearable.”
Ava pointed at her. “Drink station. Focus.”
“I am focused on love.”
“Focus elsewhere.”
Ellie took a stack of cups and backed away, mouthing oh my gosh at Nate over Ava’s shoulder.
Ava turned so fast Ellie nearly dropped the cups.
“I felt that,” Ava said.
Ellie fled.
Nate laughed.
Ava turned the glare on him. “You too.”
“I didn’t mouth anything.”
“Your face supported her.”
“My face is independent.”
“Your face is on probation.”
Nate leaned a hip against the table, careful to leave space between them. “How are you?”
Her humor shifted.
Not gone.
Guarded.
“Loaded question.”
“Plain question.”
“No such thing.”
“Fair.”
She twisted the cap off the water. “I am at a family cookout that is not technically a family cookout because half the university is here. My fake boyfriend is real enough that my grandmother asked about his hidden tattoo. My ex is sponsoring a mystery station called sponsor surprise, which sounds like a lawsuit in khakis. I am wearing a shirt with both our names on the back, and your team is one emotional breeze away from forming a chorus line.”
Nate nodded. “So medium?”
Her mouth twitched. “Medium-high.”
“What do you need?”
She looked at him.
The question always seemed to catch her off guard.
Not because it was complicated.
Because he meant it.
“No surprises,” she said.
Nate glanced toward the Hale tent. Trevor stood there in a white polo, laughing with a sponsor rep.
“I wish I could promise that.”
“You can’t.”
“No.”
“Then if there is a surprise, do not react first.”
“Follow your lead.”
“Even if your jaw has opinions.”
“Especially then.”
She looked down at the water bottle, then back at him. “Good.”
The word was quiet.
It mattered more than it should have.
Ava’s mother and grandmother arrived fifteen minutes later.
Nate knew because his nervous system sensed Ruthie Lane before he saw her.
She appeared at the edge of the lawn in a pale blue blouse, white pants, and the expression of a woman who had come to inspect both the cookout and everyone’s motives. Karen walked beside her carrying a container of brownies and wearing a smile that lit when she spotted Ava.
Ava’s shoulders tensed.
Nate noticed.
Ava noticed him noticing.
“Do not look steady,” she said.
“I don’t know how to change my face on command.”
“Lie. You’re a man with charm infrastructure.”
“Charm infrastructure?”
“Don’t make me define it near family.”
Karen waved.
Ava waved back.
Ruthie looked directly at Nate and lifted two fingers in greeting like a queen acknowledging a subject on probation.
Nate lifted a hand.
“Scale of threat?” he asked.
Ava sighed. “Grandmother with baked goods and curiosity. Severe.”
“Copy.”
Karen hugged Ava, then surprised Nate by hugging him too.
“Good to see you again,” she said.
Nate had one terrifying second to decide what to do with his arms.
He managed a polite, careful hug that lasted exactly long enough not to be rude and not long enough to be meaningful.
Ava watched with approval.
Small.
Nate accepted it like an award.
Ruthie did not hug him.
Ruthie looked at his right arm.
“Tattoo hidden?”
Ava covered her face. “Grandma.”
Nate coughed into his fist. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Still scandalous.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Good. A little scandal keeps men humble.”
Karen closed her eyes. “Mama.”
Ava looked at Nate. “Do not write that down.”
“Too late,” he said.
Ava pointed.
“On purpose again,” he admitted.
Ruthie smiled. “I like him better when he misbehaves honestly.”
Ava stared at the sky. “I am begging all of you to stop forming alliances.”
Trevor chose that moment to approach.
Of course he did.
Nate watched Ava’s posture change.
The shift was small. Most people would miss it.
He did not.
Trevor carried two paper cups and wore the same public smile from Sunday. “Mrs. Lane. Ruthie. Ava. Nate.”
The order was intentional.
The tone was harmless.
Nate hated it anyway.
Karen smiled politely. “Trevor.”
Ruthie looked at the cups. “Are those for us?”
Trevor blinked. “Oh. I was just...”
“Then why bring two into a group of five?” Ruthie asked.
Ava made a sound into her hand.
Nate turned his laugh into a cough with moderate success.
Trevor’s smile tightened. “One was for Ava, actually. Lemonade. I remembered you liked it.”
Ava’s face went blank.
Nate saw the blade under it.
I remember you.
I still know things.
I still get to offer.
Ava looked at the cup, then at Trevor. “I work at a snack shack. I have access to lemonade.”
“Just being nice,” Trevor said.
“Of course,” she replied.
Two words.
Sharp enough to shave ice.
Nate stayed quiet.
Ruthie looked between them. “Ava has always preferred getting her own drink. Even as a child. Very inconvenient at restaurants.”
Karen smiled. “She once refused a refill because the waiter did not ask her directly.”
Ava looked betrayed. “I was seven, and he asked Dad what I wanted like I didn’t have language.”
Ruthie nodded. “Valid.”
Nate’s respect for seven-year-old Ava was immediate and intense.
Trevor lowered the lemonade. “Right. Well, I’ll see you at the relay. Hale Development is hosting the final station. Should be fun.”
“What is it?” Ava asked.
Trevor smiled. “Sponsor surprise.”
Nate felt the word land exactly where Trevor wanted it.
Ava did not blink. “So you don’t know either?”
Trevor’s smile paused.
Nate nearly laughed.
Ava tilted her head. “That’s fine. Mystery requires management. Not everyone is suited for it.”
Ruthie said, “Mm.”
That was it.
Just mm.
Trevor looked like he had been slapped by a church bulletin.
He walked away with both cups.
Ava exhaled.
Karen touched Ava’s arm. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
Nate did not believe the yes.
Neither did Karen.
Neither did Ruthie.
Ava looked at all three of them. “I am standing right here inside the surveillance triangle.”
Ruthie said, “Then stand straighter.”
Ava laughed despite herself.
Good.
The relay started at seven with a whistle, a cheer, and Tyler declaring he had stretched emotionally.
Station one, picnic basket pack, should have been simple.
It was not.
Each pair had to pack a basket from a table of items: plates, napkins, plastic utensils, drinks, fruit, dessert, sunscreen, bug spray, a tiny first-aid kit, and one mystery item worth bonus points.
Nate and Ava reached the table at the same time.
“We need practical,” Ava said.
“Agreed.”
“Plates, napkins, utensils, water, first aid kit, sunscreen.”
“Dessert?”
“Not essential.”
Nate looked at her.
She looked back.
“Fine,” she said. “Brownies. But only because my mother made them, and rejecting them could alter inheritance.”
Nate grabbed the brownies.
Ava grabbed bug spray.
They moved fast, hands crossing, shoulders bumping once.
Her arm brushed his, and Nate’s brain immediately forgot the location of plates.
Ava snapped, “Forks, Brennan.”
“Right. Forks.”
“You were doing so well.”
“Your elbow distracted me.”
“My elbow is not responsible for your athletic decline.”
“It has influence.”
“Ignore my elbow.”
“Trying.”
They finished packing and hit the buzzer.
Paulson checked the basket. “Good. Practical. Bonus item?”
Ava held up the bug spray.
Paulson shook his head. “Not the mystery item.”
Nate reached into the basket and pulled out the brownies.
Paulson nodded. “Homemade dessert. Bonus.”
Ava turned to Nate.
He smiled. “Inheritance preserved.”
“Lucky guess.”
“Strategic dessert.”
“Do not make dessert a leadership principle.”
They left station one in second place.
Station two was the three-legged cone walk.
Nate hated it immediately because it involved tying his leg to Ava’s and trusting every part of his body to behave in public.
A volunteer wrapped a pink band around his left ankle and Ava’s right.
Ava looked down. “This is intimate in a municipal way.”
Nate nodded. “Terrible phrase. Accurate.”
“Do not stride.”
“I won’t.”
“Your legs are longer.”
“I noticed.”
“This is not the time to be pleased with your anatomy.”
“I was not.”
“Your silence was smug.”
The whistle blew.
They moved.
Badly.
For three steps.
Ava grabbed his arm. Nate caught her waist. Not because he meant to. Because gravity had entered the chat with violence.
Every cell in his body noticed exactly where his hand landed.
So did Ava.
Her breath hitched.
Nate released her the second she was steady.
“Sorry,” he said.