Ava's POV
Chloe practically bounces into the booth across from me at Marley's Café, her energy so electric I can feel it crackling across the table before she even sits down.
"Okay, don't freak out, but I have news," she announces, sliding her phone across the checkered tablecloth before I can even say hello. "Like, huge, life-changing, possibly-the-best-thing-ever news."
I set down my fork, abandoning my half-eaten Caesar salad to study the screen.
The photo shows a woman with short auburn hair and the kind of toned arms that speak of serious dedication to fitness. She's laughing at something off-camera, and even in the picture, her confidence is magnetic.
"This is Mara," Chloe continues, unable to contain herself. "She's a personal trainer at my gym, and she has been flirting with me for weeks. Like, 'hey beautiful, need a spot?' kind of flirting. And yesterday, she finally asked me to coffee."
"Chloe, that's amazing." I try to match her enthusiasm, but my voice sounds hollow even to me. "Tell me everything."
"Where do I even start?"
She swipes to the next photo—Mara deadlifting what looks like twice her body weight.
"She has a master's degree in sports medicine, which is obviously sexy as hell, but she's also hilarious. She made me laugh so hard yesterday that I snorted coffee through my nose. Actually snorted, Ava. In public."
Despite my own complicated feelings, I find myself smiling. "You haven't done that since sophomore year when I told you about Professor Hendricks and his toupée."
"Exactly! And she didn't even look horrified. She just handed me napkins and said it was the most adorable thing she'd seen all week."
Chloe's eyes are practically sparkling.
"And when I started ranting about my mother's latest passive-aggressive campaign, she actually listened. Like, really listened, and then said Mom sounds like she needs therapy, not me."
"I like her already."
"She gets it, you know? The family pressure, the feeling like you're disappointing everyone just by existing authentically. Her parents went through the same thing when she came out in college."
Chloe leans forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "And Ava, when she kissed me goodbye yesterday, I literally forgot how to function. Like, completely brain-dead for a solid thirty seconds."
The joy radiating from my best friend is infectious, and I want to bask in it, to let her happiness lift my own spirits. But instead, it makes my chest ache with a familiar loneliness.
She gets to gush about her feelings. Gets to show me photos and share every detail of flirtation and first kisses. Gets to be excited about someone who makes her laugh until coffee shoots out her nose.
And I can never do the same. I can never tell her about the way Tobias's eyes darken when he looks at me across conference rooms.
Can never share how he researches pregnancy symptoms to make sure I'm okay, or how he held me against his chest last night whispering promises against my hair. Can never admit that I've fallen completely, devastatingly in love with her father.
"Earth to Ava." Chloe waves her hand in front of my face. "You're doing that thing where you disappear inside your own head. What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." I force a smile, stabbing at my salad. "I'm happy for you. Really. She sounds perfect."
Chloe's studying me with those sharp eyes she inherited from Tobias, and I can see her cataloging details—the way I keep checking my phone, how I've barely touched my food, the distracted quality that's become my default lately.
"Is this weird for you? Talking about dating when Tyler just..."
"No, it's not about Tyler." The response is automatic, true. "I'm over Tyler."
"Good. Because that's exactly my point."
She sets her phone down, leaning forward with renewed intensity.
"It's been weeks since his spectacular public humiliation of you. Weeks, Ava. You're young, you're gorgeous, you're brilliant, and you deserve someone who actually appreciates all of that."
My phone buzzes against the table, and I glance down reflexively. A text from "T. Murphy" that anyone looking would assume is work-related: "Tied up in campaign meetings until late. Missing our usual productivity discussions."
The coded message, that he's missing me, makes heat bloom in my chest, followed immediately by guilt. Chloe's right here, being vulnerable about her feelings, and I'm getting distracted by secret messages from her father.
"See, that's what I'm talking about." Chloe gestures at my phone. "You're constantly distracted lately. It's like you're waiting for something that's never going to come."
"I'm not waiting for anything."
"You're avoiding life, and I'm not going to let you do it anymore." Her expression shifts from concern to determination. "You know what? I have the perfect solution."
My stomach drops before she even continues. "Chloe, no."
"Yes! Mara has this friend from the gym, Jake. He's gorgeous, sweet, been single for months because he's picky about finding something real. You two would be perfect together!"
"I don't need to be set up."
"Double date. This weekend. Casual, low-pressure, just dinner and maybe a movie." She's already pulling up Instagram on her phone, swiping to find his profile. "Look at him, Ava. Look at this face."
She turns the screen toward me, showing a guy who is, objectively, attractive. Tall, conventionally handsome, the kind of easy smile that suggests uncomplicated happiness. Under normal circumstances, I might have been interested.
But these aren't normal circumstances.
"He's cute," I manage, because saying anything else would raise suspicions.
"Cute? Ava, he's gorgeous. And according to Mara, he's also funny, employed, emotionally available, and looking for something serious. When's the last time you could say that about anyone you've dated?"
Never, I think. Because the person I want is none of those things—not available, not uncomplicated, certainly not someone I could ever date publicly.
My phone buzzes again. Another message: "Hope you're taking care of yourself today. Both of you."
The subtle reference to the baby makes my chest tight with affection and longing. He's in meetings, probably discussing campaign strategy or policy positions, but he's thinking about my health, about making sure I'm eating enough, resting enough.
"Seriously, what is going on with you?” Chloe's voice cuts through my thoughts. “Ever since Tyler's meltdown, you act like you're carrying some secret that's eating you alive."
The accuracy of her observation makes my pulse spike. "I'm not carrying any secrets."
"Then come to the double date. Let someone new make you laugh."
Her voice softens, becoming more persuasive than demanding. "I know Tyler messed with your head, but you can't let him win by hiding from everyone else."
"It's not about Tyler."
"Then what's it about? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're determined to punish yourself for his failures. Like you think you deserve to be alone because one asshole couldn't appreciate what he had."
The irony is crushing. I'm not alone. I'm not punishing myself. I'm in love with a man who makes me feel precious and desired and completely cherished.
But I can never tell her that, because the man I love is her father, and admitting it would destroy everything.
"One date," Chloe presses, sensing weakness. "Just one. If you hate it, I'll never bring up your love life again. But Ava, you need this. You need to remember that there are good men out there who would treat you the way you deserve to be treated."
My phone buzzes a third time. I shouldn't look, shouldn't give Chloe more ammunition about my distraction, but I can't help myself.
"Counting the hours until I can see you properly. T."
The message makes my heart race and my stomach clench with guilt. Here's Chloe, trying to help me move on from what she thinks is Tyler-related trauma, and I'm getting love notes from her father.
"Fine," I hear myself saying, the word escaping before I can stop it. "One date."
"Really?" Chloe's face lights up like I've just agreed to give her a kidney. "Oh my God, this is going to be perfect! You're going to love Jake, and he's going to worship the ground you walk on, and—"
"One date," I repeat, forcing a smile. "Low-pressure, like you said."
"Absolutely. Saturday night, Rosario's Café, nothing fancy. Just four people having dinner and getting to know each other." She's already texting furiously, probably coordinating with Mara. "God, I'm so excited I could scream."
I manage to nod and make appropriate responses as she rattles off details, but inside, I'm spiraling.
How am I supposed to sit across from some nice, uncomplicated guy and pretend to be interested when I'm carrying another man's baby?
When I'm so deeply in love with someone I can never publicly claim that even breathing feels like a betrayal?