"Mom needs to mind her own business."
"Good luck with that." He chuckles. "She already knows something's different. She says you've been happier these past few months. More like yourself before Elena."
The observation hits unexpectedly hard. Have I been happier? I think about the anticipation I feel driving to work, knowing Avery will be there. The way our debates energize me instead of exhausting me. How I find myself looking for excuses to stop byher temporary office, just to see her focused expression as she works through a problem.
"Jake keeps joking about needing to approve her," I add, trying to lighten the moment.
"Your brother's protective of you. We all are. After what happened—" Dad pauses, choosing his words carefully. "We just want to see you take a chance on happiness again."
"What if she's not ready? What if pushing ruins everything?"
"Then you wait. But waiting doesn't mean hiding what you feel. It means showing her, consistently and patiently, that you're different from whoever hurt her."
I finish my cold coffee, letting his words sink in.
"Bring her," Dad says immediately. "Not as a date. As a colleague you respect, someone you want your family to meet. Let her see who you are outside the office. Let her see that you're serious about whatever this is becoming."
The idea is both terrifying and perfect. Avery meeting my family, seeing me outside the CEO role, understanding that my interest isn't just professional attraction but something deeper, more permanent.
"She might say no."
"She might," Dad agrees. "But she might surprise you. From what you've told me, she sounds like someone who appreciates directness and honesty."
We talk for another hour about safer topics, like my mother's latest charity project that she wants me involved in. But my mind keeps circling back to Avery, to the way she looked yesterday when I brushed her hair back, the flash of something in her eyes that wasn't just gratitude but recognition.
Like she saw me, really saw me, for the first time.
As I stand to leave, Dad grips my shoulder. "Don't let work be an excuse to avoid what you're feeling. I almost made thatmistake with your mother. The best decision I ever made was taking the risk."
"Even though it could have failed?"
"Especiallybecause it could have failed. The best things in life usually can."
I drive back to my penthouse in the city, the Saturday afternoon traffic lighter than usual. My phone sits in the cupholder, screen dark, but I know there are three drafted texts to Avery.
Back in my unit, I pour myself a scotch and stand at the windows overlooking the city. Somewhere out there, Avery is probably curled up with a book or working through case files. I know something now: she trusts me. Maybe not completely, maybe not with everything, but enough to seek shelter in my office when she was scared.
My phone sits on the counter, screen dark. I shouldn’t text her. It's the weekend. It’s impulsive. It’s… too much.
But the thought of waiting another day, another hour, makes my chest feel tight.
Before I can stop myself, I open a new message.
My family has dinner next Saturday. Nothing formal, just Italian food and too much wine. Would you come? As my colleague, no pressure. I'd just like them to meet you.
The moment I hit send, my pulse spikes. What am I doing? What if she thinks it’s inappropriate? What if it scares her off? What if I’ve completely misread everything between us?
The dots appear.
Disappear.
Appear again.
I exhale shakily, pour myself half an inch of scotch because I suddenly need it.
Then her reply arrives:Okay.
One word that feels like a door opening.
