It was a grey and foggy morning, the kind of coastal haze that turned the world into a watercolor painting, following the rehearsal dinner the night before. As the waves lapped softly against the posts, Ava stood at the boathouse dock, tablet in hand, reviewing vendor schedules.
However, her mind refused to cooperate. It kept replaying the expression on Ethan's face from the previous evening, filled with hurt and frustration, and how his voice had turned quiet as he shared his worries. She had convinced herself that she wanted separation; it was necessary to push him away. But instead of finding peace, she felt only a hollow ache.
"Starting early again?"
She pivoted to see Ethan a few feet away, his camera slung over his shoulder and his hair damp from the mist. Though his expression was neutral, the tension between them crackled like a live wire.
Ava responded sharply, "I prefer to be ahead of schedule."
He nodded. "I agree with you."
Neither of them moved for a moment, and the only sound was the distant cries of gulls breaking the stillness. Finally, Ava pointed to the tables waiting to be set. "Make yourself useful if you're here. Before tonight, the wiring in the lanterns needs to be checked."
Ethan raised an eyebrow but kept quiet. He picked up the lantern box and got to work, moving with precision and efficiency. Ava's eyes betrayed her, glancing toward him more often than she intended, drawn to the steady, confident movements of his hands while she tried to concentrate on floral notes.
By midday, the clouds had cleared, allowing sunlight to stream across the boathouse. The crew drifted toward the pier for lunch. Ava remained behind, distractedly rearranging ribbons that didn't need adjustment.
Suddenly, she felt Ethan's shadow slide across the table, and she realized he was close.
"You're trying to avoid me," he observed.
Ava tensed her shoulders. "I'm working."
He leaned against the table, and she could smell the faint cedar and salt clinging to his shirt. "I didn't ask that question."
Still avoiding his gaze, she focused on the ribbons. "Last night, you misinterpreted things."
"Did I?" His tone was steady and low. "Because you were still focused on him from where I was standing. Moreover, I—" He halted mid-sentence.
Finally, Ava raised her eyes to meet his. His storm-grey eyes were locked onto hers, and she noticed raw, unguarded emotion flickering beneath his usual calm.
Her breath caught. "And what about you?"
Ethan's jaw clenched. She hoped he might say something like, "I want you," "I care," or "Daniel's presence cut deeper than he liked to admit."
Instead, he shook his head gently. "Ignore it."
That retreat stirred something in her. Almost instinctively, she reached out and touched the back of his hand. His breath hitched at the brief, electric contact.
The air between them felt thick as they held each other's gaze. The room seemed on the verge of unraveling with one more word or one more step.
Yet, Ava withdrew, retreating to the safety of her clipboard. "We should concentrate on the wedding."
Ethan exhaled a long, silent breath. "All right. The wedding."
She felt the lingering warmth of his presence as he turned and walked toward the dock, his shoulders stiff.
Later that night, Ava sat alone in the boathouse, checking candles one by one as the sun bled orange across the harbor. The silence around her felt heavy.
She recalled Ethan's eyes, the words he hadn't said, and how the brief touch of his hand against hers had sent her heart racing. To steady herself, she placed a palm on her chest.
The silence was suddenly interrupted by a voice.
"You were always preoccupied with the details."
It was Daniel.
Ava's head jerked up. He stood casually in the doorway, as if the years and the pain he had caused had never happened.
Caught between the man who had once broken her and the one whose closeness now frightened her for entirely different reasons, her heart lurched.
In that moment, Ava Bennett realized that her control was slipping away.