Chapter Eighteen Nate #3
“Don’t apologize,” she said too fast.
They stared at each other.
Then Ava looked forward. “Inside legs first.”
“Right.”
“My right. Your left.”
“That’s the same tied disaster.”
“Exactly. Move on my count.”
“Bossy.”
“Correct.”
She counted.
They moved.
This time, it worked.
Step. Step. Step. Around the cone. Nate adjusted to her pace. Ava leaned into his side just enough to stay balanced. His arm hovered behind her, not touching, ready.
She noticed.
Of course she did.
“You can put your hand on my back,” she said tightly. “For balance. Not romance.”
Nate placed his hand lightly between her shoulder blades.
Heat moved through him.
Not romance, his brain repeated.
His body filed a formal disagreement.
They finished the station in first.
Tyler yelled, “THAT WAS BASICALLY CHOREOGRAPHY.”
Ava pointed toward the lake without turning. “Water.”
Tyler immediately faced the water.
Nate laughed so hard he nearly tripped over the band.
Station three was compatibility questions.
Nate approached with deep suspicion.
A volunteer handed them two whiteboards.
Ava took hers like it was a weapon. “Rules?”
“You each write your answer. Match earns points. Funny earns bonus if the judges agree.”
“Who are the judges?” Nate asked.
The volunteer pointed.
Ruthie, Denise, and Soren sat behind a folding table.
Nate stared.
Soren lifted one hand.
Ava turned to Nate. “We are doomed.”
“Your grandmother is judging us?”
“My grandmother is judging everyone. This just makes it official.”
First question: What is Ava most likely to say when annoyed?
Nate wrote: Absolutely not.
Ava wrote: No.
Ruthie studied both boards. “Partial credit. Hers is shorter because she is meaner when tired.”
Ava said, “Thank you?”
Second question: What is Nate most likely to bring to a family dinner?
Both wrote: Rolls.
The crowd cheered.
Ruthie nodded. “Correct and nonthreatening. Full credit.”
Third question: Who is more competitive?
Nate looked at Ava.
Ava looked at Nate.
They both wrote: Ava.
Ava gasped at his board. “Betrayal.”
“Accuracy.”
“I am participating under protest.”
“You threatened a child for cutting a cone during the relay practice.”
“He was twelve and wrong.”
Ruthie awarded bonus points for honesty.
Fourth question: What would be the worst first date for this couple?
Nate’s marker paused.
This couple.
Ava looked at the question too long.
Then she wrote.
Nate wrote his answer.
They turned the boards.
Ava: Anything with a microphone.
Nate: Anything judged by Tyler.
Denise awarded full points for compatible survival instincts.
Soren agreed.
Ruthie said, “The microphone answer is stronger.”
Nate accepted the loss.
Final compatibility question: What is the one rule this couple should never break?
The air changed.
Ava went still beside him.
Nate looked at the board.
No kissing.
It was the obvious answer.
The dangerous answer.
The answer that would make Ruthie Lane lift one eyebrow, Tyler combust near the water, and Trevor smile like he had gotten what he wanted.
Ava’s marker did not move.
Nate wrote first.
Then he turned his board facedown.
Ava looked at him.
He kept his eyes on hers.
She wrote slowly.
They turned the boards together.
Ava had written: No lying to ourselves.
Nate had written: No letting someone else define us.
The crowd got quieter.
Ruthie leaned back in her chair.
Denise’s expression softened.
Soren looked between both boards and said, “Match.”
Ava’s lips parted.
Nate did not look away.
Ruthie nodded once. “Full points.”
Ava looked down at her board like it had betrayed her.
Nate understood.
His own answer had done the same thing.
Station four was the water balloon toss, which should have broken the tension.
It did not.
Ava stood across from him on the grass, both hands ready, eyes narrowed.
“Do not throw it like a hockey player,” she said.
“How does a hockey player throw a water balloon?”
“With emotional repression and upper-body confidence.”
“Specific.”
“Earned.”
He tossed gently.
She caught it.
Crowd cheered.
They stepped back.
She tossed.
He caught.
Step back.
Toss.
Catch.
Step back.
The balloon became more fragile with every throw.
So did Nate’s focus. Ava’s hair had loosened around her face.
Her cheeks were flushed. She was smiling now, really smiling, because she wanted to win and because winning with him apparently made her forget, for short dangerous seconds, that this was supposed to be fake.
Nate wanted to memorize the exact shape of that smile.
Terrible idea.
He caught the next throw against his chest.
The balloon burst.
Cold water exploded down his shirt.
The crowd screamed.
Ava’s hands flew to her mouth.
Then she laughed.
Hard.
Bright.
Helpless.
Nate stood there soaked and lost.
Completely lost.
Not because of Trevor.
Not because of the bet.
Not because of Tyler or the team or the score.
Because Ava Lane laughing at him in the middle of a ridiculous lake relay felt like the most real thing that had happened all summer.
“You should see your face,” she said, still laughing.
Nate wiped water from his jaw. “My face is under review.”
“Rejected.”
“Harsh.”
“Accurate.”
They lost the station by two points and gained three from the judges because Ruthie said, “A man who can be laughed at and not sulk is worth bonus consideration.”
Nate looked at Ava.
Ava looked away first.
Then came station five.
Sponsor surprise.
The Hale Development banner stood behind a small platform near the firepit. Trevor waited there with a stack of cards in one hand and a microphone in the other.
Nate’s entire body wanted to reject the station on sight.
Ava stepped beside him.
Not behind him.
Beside him.
Her arm brushed his.
“No reacting first,” she said under her breath.
“Follow your lead,” he said.
Trevor smiled into the microphone. “For our final station, we’re testing how well each pair can tell their story. Each couple or team will draw a prompt card and answer together. Judges award points for teamwork, creativity, and crowd approval.”
Ava’s jaw tightened.
Story.
Of course.
Trevor looked at them as if the word had been chosen carefully.
Nate kept his face neutral.
Mostly.
The first pair drew: Best thing about your partner.
Easy.
A mother and daughter answered. The crowd clapped.
Second pair: Who would survive longer on a deserted island?
Tyler and Miles argued for forty seconds until Griffin yelled, “Neither.” The judges agreed.
Then Team One was called.
Ava walked up the platform steps with Nate beside her.
The lights felt too bright.
The crowd too close.
Ruthie sat at the judges’ table, eyes narrowed.
Karen stood near Ellie, hands clasped.
Griffin watched like he was prepared to tackle Tyler if needed.
Trevor held out the cards to Ava.
“Ladies first,” he said.
Ava smiled. “Interesting. I didn’t know you knew the phrase.”
The crowd made a soft, delighted sound.
Trevor’s smile held by a thread.
Nate looked at the lake because looking proud might violate rule seven.
Ava drew a card.
She turned it over.
Her face went blank.
Nate knew before he saw it.
He looked down.
The card read:
TELL THE STORY OF YOUR FIRST KISS.
The crowd reacted instantly.
Tyler made a sound that might have been death or joy.
Karen’s hand flew to her mouth.
Ruthie’s eyebrows lifted.
Trevor’s smile returned, soft and sharp.
Ava stared at the card.
No kissing.
No lying to Grandma if avoidable.
No letting someone else define us.
Nate could feel every rule between them like a line of matchsticks.
Trevor lifted the microphone. “Looks like a good one.”
Ava’s fingers tightened around the card.
Nate waited for her lead.
She did not move.
For the first time all night, she looked trapped.
Not angry.
Trapped.
Nate stepped closer, just enough that only she could hear him.
“Lane,” he said. “We can forfeit.”
Her eyes lifted to his.
The whole lawn seemed to hold its breath.
Ava swallowed once.
Then she handed him the card.
Her voice was quiet.
“No,” she said. “I’m tired of forfeiting rooms because of him.”
Nate’s pulse hit hard.
Ava looked from him to the crowd, then back again.
The no kissing rule sat between them.
So did the truth.
Then Ava took the microphone from Trevor’s hand and said, “Funny story. We haven’t had one yet.”
The lawn went silent.
Nate forgot how to breathe.
Ava turned toward him, still holding the microphone, eyes bright with panic and courage.
“So,” she said, voice shaking just enough for him to hear it, “I guess this is where we decide if we want bonus points.”