Thursday morning dawned bright, the kind of warm, breezy day that seemed to beg for impulsive plans. Lena showed up at Ava's apartment armed with a determined grin and the two most dangerous words in their friendship: shopping spree.
"You're not wearing just anything to the Queens' family dinner," Lena announced, practically herding Ava toward the door. "Those events are like… business galas disguised as family gatherings."
"I told you, I don't need—" Ava tried, but Lena was already waving her off.
"Nope. No arguments. We're finding you something simple, elegant, and non-negotiable."
Two boutiques, countless racks, and far too many sarcastic comments later, Ava stepped out of the dressing room in a soft, midnight-blue dress. It skimmed her knees, fitted at the waist, with a square neckline and short sleeves—nothing over the top, but undeniably flattering.
Lena let out a satisfied hum. "Perfect. You look classy. Mysterious. The kind of girl people remember."
Ava smoothed her hands over the fabric, feeling a strange flutter in her chest. "It's just a dinner."
"With your last name? Sure." Lena smirked, already hauling her toward the register.
---
By noon, they were back in the city, bags in hand, and decided to stop by a small café tucked between a bookstore and a florist. They slid into a booth, placed their orders, and started debating whether Ava's dress needed new shoes.
The door chimed.
Ava glanced up, and her breath caught. Nathan. He scanned the room deliberately, his eyes sweeping past strangers until they landed on her. His mouth curved—just enough to send her pulse skittering.
He walked over, casual but with purpose. "Hey, we're in the same art class, right? Ava… that's your name?"
Before she could speak, Lena tilted her head, studying him. "Hmm, you look familiar."
"I don't think we've met," Nathan replied smoothly, his gaze flicking back to Ava.
Then Lena's eyes widened in sudden realization. "Wait—Ava, isn't this the guy you've been obsessively drawing?"
Ava whipped around, mortified. "Lena!"
Nathan's lips twitched. "Obsessively? Should I be concerned or flattered?"
"There's no obsessively," Ava muttered, glaring at her best friend. "It's called practice."
"Uh-huh," Nathan said, clearly unconvinced. "So my jawline is just your favorite warm-up exercise?"
Lena grinned wickedly. "Oh, she's got you down. The eyes, the hair, even that tiny frown line—she's basically your unofficial biographer."
Ava covered her face with both hands. "I can't believe you right now."
Nathan chuckled low in his throat. "I'm starting to feel flattered. Should I expect royalties?"
Lena leaned back in her seat. "Why don't you join us, mystery muse?"
Nathan glanced at Ava. "If Ava doesn't mind."
Ava muttered something that might have been "fine" as he slid in beside them.
The next few minutes were a blur of teasing—Nathan asking how many sketches existed, Ava refusing to answer, Lena gleefully answering for her. Nathan promised to "sign the originals when I'm famous," which only made Ava want to disappear under the table.
It was light. Easy. Almost too easy.
Then Nathan's phone buzzed.
He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen… and his smile disappeared. His posture straightened, jaw tightening. "Excuse me," he said, already rising.
Through the café's window, Ava caught a glimpse of his expression—focused, serious, almost… guarded. The way he held the phone to his ear was different, too. No casual friendliness. His voice was low, clipped, the kind of tone people used when they didn't want anyone overhearing.
"Yeah," she faintly heard him say. "I'm here. What's the update?"
And just like that, the Nathan sitting across from her minutes ago—the teasing, easygoing one—was gone. What stood in his place was someone colder, sharper… and Ava couldn't help but wonder who exactly she'd been having coffee with.
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