Page 111 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

“Understood. I’ll hold down the fort.”

He gives me a grateful look. “Thank you for doing this.”

Then he’s gone. I glance at the clock, calling for the twins to grab their bags. “Let’s go, guys. We don’t want to be late.”

They barrel out the door, backpacks swinging. I follow, feeling half amused and half braced for whatever the rest of the day brings.

Back home, I dive into emails. Rental confirmations, floral approvals, table placements. I answer what I can and flag the rest for later.

When I pause to stretch, I find myself carefully looking around.

I realize this house used to feel temporary, like I was borrowing someone else’s life.

But now I know where the extra printer paper is. I know the rhythm of school drop-offs and what snacks Noah will actually eat without bargaining.

It doesn’t feel foreign anymore.

It feels like I belong.

I’m halfway through answering a florist’s email when my phone buzzes on the table beside me.

It’s Mom.

I hesitate.

It’s about time I tell them.

I swipe to answer. “Hi, Mom.”

“Ava! How have you been?” she says, and I can hear the faint clink of dishes in the background.

I laugh softly, sinking into the kitchen chair. “Sorry. It’s been a madhouse here. Gala prep, last-minute sponsor calls… you know.”

“Of course,” she says. Then, more gently: “And how are you holding up?”

I pause. “I’m... okay. Tired. But good.”

“And Jackson? Your dad keeps asking if you’re still ‘taking up space in that hockey man’s house,’” she teases lightly.

“Oh God,” I say, my laugh catching in my throat.

“Well, you know your father.”

I shake my head. “Yeah. He’s subtle as a freight train.”

There’s a beat of silence on the line, the kind that feels like she’s giving me a nudge without saying a word.

“Mom,” I start, the word coming out softer than I intend.

“Mm?”

I swallow, exhale slowly. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. You and Dad both.”

I pause. “Jackson and I… Well, we’re... together. We’ve been seeing each other for a little while now.”

Silence. Then a sharp inhale.

“Oh!” she breathes, and I can practically hear her hand flying to her chest.