Chapter Eleven
Avery
T he moment my lips touch Nash’s, my entire body goes electric. Sure, I’ve been kissed before, but never with a rush of heat that starts at my mouth and races down to my toes. His hands are firm at my waist—which is probably a good thing, considering my knees might buckle at any moment.
When he pulls back, his green eyes search mine, like he’s trying to memorize every detail. I should say something witty or causal to cut through the heaviness of the situation, but all I can think is…
Oh!
He kisses me again, and thinking becomes impossible. His hand caresses my face with unexpected tenderness as I rest my hands on his chest. I can feel his heart pounding beneath my palms.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I gave you that rose,” he whispers against my lips.
The confession catches me off guard, melting something inside me that’s been frozen for far too long. “Certainly took you long enough,” I manage, surprising even myself with the playfulness in my voice.
His answering smile is enough to make me forget every reason I had for keeping him at arm’s length. For this one perfect moment, I allow myself to believe that this— us —could actually work.
His phone buzzes—once, twice. He doesn’t move, just kisses me again. But I can feel a slight, undeniable shift in his focus.
“You should probably get that,” I say, pulling back.
Nash steps away and pulls out his phone. His smile vanishes, replaced by a tension around his eyes that sends chills down my spine. I’ve never seen him look so… distant.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, suddenly aware of the water soaking through our shirts and the mess we’ve made of the kitchen.
“Yeah, it’s just... my parents. They’re in town.” His voice is carefully neutral, but I don’t miss the tension beneath it.
“Oh.” I frown, trying to wrap my head around what he is saying. “ Oh ! Look, if this is going to be a problem… We can go.”
The offer to leave comes automatically, with self-preservation kicking in before I can even process the disappointment blooming in my chest. Of course his parents would complicate things. What was I thinking?
“No,” Nash says quickly. “I mean... maybe. I don’t know. But I know I don’t want you to go.” He steps closer, leaning in and kissing me again. “Stay? Let me handle my parents.”
I nod, despite the warning bells ringing in my head. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll stay. But promise you’ll tell me if you change your mind. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“I promise.” Nash pulls me into his arms, pressing a kiss to my forehead, and I allow myself to sink into the embrace. “You couldn’t be a burden even if you tried.”
I want to believe him. And for this moment, wrapped in his arms with the taste of him still on my lips, I almost do.
The next morning, I’m stirring a pot of oatmeal when Nash walks into the kitchen, freshly showered and looking unfairly good for someone who was up texting his parents until midnight. My stomach does a little flip as memories of last night’s kisses rush back with unexpected force.
“Morning.” His voice is still rough with sleep.
“Morning, sleepy head. Coffee’s fresh.”
“Thanks.” He moves around me carefully, maintaining a distance that wasn’t there yesterday. When his arm brushes mine, we both jump like we’ve been shocked.
Benji bursts in before the awkward silence can stretch any further. “You guys will never believe what my coach sent last night!” He plops his phone on the counter, showing us a video of last weekend’s game highlights. “Look! They put my homerun on their Facebook page!”
Nash leans over the phone. “That’s awesome, Buddy! Great form on that swing.”
“I know, right? Coach says if I keep it up, they might put me in a feature.”
I set a bowl of oatmeal in front of Benji, silently grateful for his complete obliviousness to the tension crackling between Nash and me. He chatters on about batting averages and fielding positions while I pretend not to notice how Nash refuses to make eye contact.
“Oh, by the way,” Nash says, pouring coffee into his mug, “I need to meet my parents for dinner tonight. At Morton’s.”
“The steakhouse?” Benji asks around a mouthful of oatmeal.
“Yeah. Downtown.” Nash finally glances up, his eyes meeting mine briefly before sliding away. “I should be back around ten, but don’t wait up or anything.”
Something cold settles in my stomach. Maybe it’s his politeness or the careful way he’s navigating the kitchen. Whatever it is, it all screams regret. Did he wake up regretting what happened between us? Or is he just nervous about his parents?
“Sounds good,” I say, my voice coming out more brittle than I intend. “Benji and I will just hang out here. Maybe watch a movie or something.”
“Perfect.” Nash’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Feel free to order takeout. My treat.”
And there it is again—the billionaire solving problems with his wallet. Last night I was kissing Nash, the man who makes my heart race. This morning I’m talking to Nash Fontaine, the pro baseball player who buys his way out of awkward situations.
“We’ll be fine,” I say casually, even though my stomach feels like it’s full of lead. “You’re already putting us up. You don’t need to feed us, too.”
Nash’s face flickers with something that might be hurt before his expression smooths back into polite neutrality.
“Of course. I didn’t mean—“
“Benji, hurry up and finish. We’re going to be late.” I grab my bag from the counter, suddenly desperate to escape this kitchen and the mistake that happened in it.
Benji shovels the last few bites into his mouth while I busy myself rinsing dishes, and by the time we’re heading out the door, the knot of doubt in my chest has grown into something I can’t ignore.
What was I thinking? Nash Fontaine and Avery Morrow?
It sounds like a bad rom-com. The kind where the working-class girl somehow gets the billionaire before the credits roll.
Except in real life, those stories never end well.
And besides, I can’t afford the kind of heartbreak that comes with believing in fairy tales.
“What did you do?” Summer pounces the minute I walk into the break room, her eyes wide with suspicion.
“Good morning to you too,” I say, hanging my bag in my locker. “Why would you assume I did anything?”
“Because you’ve got that look.” She narrows her eyes, following me as I pour myself a fresh cup of coffee. “The one where you’re trying way too hard to act normal. Which means something definitely happened. You just don’t want to admit it.”
I take a long sip, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, no! “ She grabs my arm, nearly making me spill my coffee. “You kissed him!?”
“Shhh!” I glance around frantically. “Summer—!”
Summer’s face splits into a triumphant grin. “I knew it! How was it? Wait, don’t tell me—it was amazing, and now you’re freaking out because you actually like him.”
“I’m not freaking out,” I say, straightening the already-perfect stack of napkins on the counter.
“Please. You’re color-coding the napkins again. It’s your stress tell.” She hops onto the counter, blocking my escape route. “Spill. All of it.”
I sigh, knowing resistance is futile. “Fine. We kissed last night. It was... nice.”
“Nice? You’re describing Nash Fontaine’s kiss as ‘nice’? The man who makes half the women in Chicago hyperventilate just by walking through the door?”
“Okay, it was more than nice,” I admit, feeling heat creep up my neck. “But it doesn’t matter because obviously, it was a mistake.”
“Why? Because he’s rich and famous, and you’re determined to be miserable?”
“Because his parents are in town, and this morning he could barely look at me.” The words come out in a rush. “He’s taking them to dinner tonight, and I just—I know how this goes, Summer. Guys like him don’t end up with girls like me.”
Summer’s expression softens. “Have you considered that maybe he’s nervous? Not everyone has your talent for assuming the worst.”
“I don’t assume the worst,” I protest, but my voice lacks conviction.
“Yes, you do. It’s your superpower.” She jumps down from the counter and places her hands on my shoulders.
“What if—and I know this is a radical thought—he genuinely likes you? What if the man who’s been texting you every day and looks at you like you hung the moon, actually does want to be with you? ”
“Then he’d be the first,” I mutter.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on him,” she says gently. “Not everyone is looking for an exit strategy the way you are.”
I shrug off her hands, uncomfortable with how close to home her words hit. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve got more important things to focus on.”
“Like what?”
“Like this Willow Grant scholarship essay that’s due on Monday, for starters. It’s an extra five thousand dollars toward Benji’s tuition if I get it, but I can’t write if I’m distracted by this thing between me and Nash. Benji has to come first. You know that.”
Summer’s eyebrows rise. “And if you don’t get it?”
“Not an option,” I say firmly. “I can’t let him down, Summer.”
“Ok. But have you ever considered what might happen if things don’t work out with the academy? Would that really make you a failure?”
The question hits me like a slap. “Of course it would. After everything Benji’s been through... he deserves this chance.”
“Benji deserves a sister who doesn’t destroy herself trying to be perfect,” Summer says quietly. “Some things in life you can’t control, Ave. But none of it will ever be enough to make the people who love you think less of you.”
I blink against the sudden burn in my eyes. Before I can respond, the door swings open, and Miguel pokes his head in.
“Ladies, we’ve got a twelve-top coming in. Let’s move!”
Summer squeezes my hand quickly before grabbing her apron. “Just don’t overthink it, okay? Give him time to show you the man he really is.”
As I follow her out, I can’t help wondering if she’s right. About Nash. About me. About everything. But I’ve spent too many years building walls to suddenly convince myself they’re no longer necessary.
Maybe Nash showing me the man he really is… is exactly what I’m afraid of.