“You cook?”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“That’s the most terrifying and attractive thing you’ve ever said to me.”
She hangs up, which I’m choosing to interpret as fondness.
I get in the car, and the phone keeps buzzing with messages, notifications, alerts, and the documented evidence of a story breaking, spreading, and becoming whatever it becomes.
I silence it without looking because there’s nothing on that screen more important than what’s waiting on the other side of six o’clock.
The season isn’t over.
Neither is anything else.
And this time, the whole world knows it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ava
It’s Sunday morning, I’m standing at my kitchen counter with coffee going cold beside me, and my phone is already sweaty in my hand when I send my dad a text message.
Me:Dinner tonight? My place. Six o’clock.
Dad responds in forty seconds flat.
Dad:I’ll bring dessert.
I stare at the message for a long moment, then set my phone face down on the counter and press both palms flat against the tile. The cool of it steadies me somewhat. Not entirely, but somewhat.
The second text takes longer to write.
Me:I need you to come at six. Not five-thirty, not six-fifteen. Six.
Reece:Why the very specific window?
Me:Because I need thirty minutes not to have a breakdown before you arrive.
Reece:Ava.
Me: Come at six. Park around the corner. And please, for the love of everything good, don’t be late.
Reece:I’m never late.
Me:You told me that last time and showed up twelve minutes early.
Reece:I was eager.
Me:Tonight, be eager on time.
There’s a pause, and I imagine him reading the message and him understanding exactly what I’m not saying outright because he’s always been good at reading the things I leave between the lines.
Reece:Is this what I think it is?
Me:Yes.
Another pause. Longer.
