Page 91 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

Miss Taylor catches my gaze and tilts her head, her meaning clear. She’s seen the shift too. Hell, I’m not exactly hiding it.

I clear my throat, moving toward the coffee pot. “Hey,” I say casually to Ava once the twins dart off again. “The boys are happily occupied, and Miss Taylor already told me she’s keeping them hostage for a while.” I glance at her.

She grins and waves me off, as if to saygo.

My voice drops low.

“I was thinking we could get out for a bit.”

She tilts her head. “Yeah?”

I nod.

She shows no hesitation. No second-guessing. Just a quiet smile and a soft, “Okay.”

The boys are too busy building a rocket castle to notice us slipping away. Miss Taylor gives me a subtle thumbs-up as I grab my keys from the counter.

As Ava reaches for her coat, I open the door and glance back at the scattered Legos, the coffee mug still steaming, the quiet rhythm of a life I never thought I’d get to build again.

And the woman I want to build it with.

I drive without telling her where we’re going.

She glances over, curious. “Can I get a clue?”

I grin. “Pancakes.”

That earns me a wide-eyed adorable expression from her. “The Griddle?”

I chuckle, nodding. “You used to beg Greg and I to take you before you could drive. Claimed their chocolate chip pancakes were the best in the world.”

“Theyare.” She smiles wider, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it’s still open.”

As we pull up, I notice the little place hasn’t changed much. The weathered brick, chalkboard sign out front, the same faded red awning.

Inside, it smells like butter, syrup, and coffee. The hostess recognizes me and leads us to a corner booth with a grin.

Ava slides in across from me, fingers curling around her water glass. For a second, we just sit there, looking at each other.

No noise, no cameras, no fake story to maintain. Just us.

Our server appears, and we order without thinking because of course she still wants chocolate chip pancakes.

Black coffee, eggs, and bacon for me.

As we eat, conversation flows easily. We recall Greg’s terrible taste in movies, and the time Ava tried to teach me to waltz in her parents’ living room and we nearly broke a lamp.

It’s when she’s chasing a stray chocolate chip around her plate that her voice goes quieter. More thoughtful.

“You know,” she says, not looking up at first. “I used to have the biggest crush on you back then.”

That pulls me up short, in the best way. I set down my fork. “Yeah?”

Her cheeks flush faintly. “Yeah. I never said anything. You were Greg’s best friend. And older. And… I was just the kid sister who tagged along.”

I hold her gaze across the table. “You were neverjustanything, Ava.”

The way her breath catches tells me that lands deeper than I meant it to. But I’m not taking it back.