11.

Roman

I lean back in my seat, letting the noise of the busy restaurant wash over me. This place is turning into some sort of pickup joint, and that’s the last place I want to be. Kent, on the other hand, is a conductor orchestrating his latest symphony, charming a flock of women that have fallen into his gravitational pull of charisma and well-tailored suits.

“Come on, lighten up,” he chides, handing me another drink.

I accept it more out of reflex than desire. “I’m good,” I mutter, pushing my empty dinner plate away. Kent rolls his eyes, then shifts his attention back to a blonde across the room. But I can’t be bothered. My mind is playing a different tune tonight.

I feel Ava’s skin against mine—her warmth, the way she clung to me last night. The memory is so tangible it almost aches. Her breathless whispers, asking me to stay, still echo in my ears. I was surprised by her request, reflecting vulnerability I hadn’t expected from her. But there had been a shadow in her afterglow, a pulling away as the reality of our tangled lives crept back in.

“Roman, are you even listening?” Kent nudges me, but I’m miles away, lost in the scent of her hair, the softness of her sighs.

“Sorry, man.” I shake my head, trying to dispel her image like smoke. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Is it that contract for the fundraiser? They’ll pass it along.”

He went with me earlier when we had to drop the venue agreement at the Xenia’s front desk, rather than meeting with the sales director personally, as I’d hoped. And, of course, Ava was in surgery, so I didn’t have her input.

He raises an eyebrow. “Or maybe it’s Ava on your mind?”

I don’t answer, and he doesn’t push. Instead, he winks at another potential conquest.

“Another round?” Kent asks, signaling the server. I glance at my untouched drink and shake my head.

Two figures sashay towards our table with a confidence that turns heads. Kent perks up like a hound catching a scent. I lean back in my seat, feeling out of place.

“Mind if we join you?” one of them asks, her voice a melody that’s supposed to lure me in. She’s all curves and inviting eyes, her friend a mirror image of allure.

“By all means, ladies.” Kent grins, gesturing to the empty chairs.

“Hi, I’m Roman,” I say, trying to match their enthusiasm as I extend a hand.

“Nice to meet you, Roman. I’m…” But her name washes over me, unanchored, slipping away before it has the chance to settle.

“Are you guys celebrating something special tonight?” the other woman asks, leaning closer to Kent.

“Every night is special when you’re alive and kicking,” Kent replies with a wink, earning giggles from our new companions.

I attempt small talk, nodding and smiling whenever it seems appropriate, but the words I exchange are empty. They’re talking vacations and cocktails, and all I can think of is how Ava’s skin felt beneath my fingertips, warm and soft, and how her breath hitched right before—

“Roman, you okay? You seem miles away.” Kent nudges me under the table.

“Ah, yeah, sorry. Just got a lot on my mind. I’ve got an early morning,” I admit. The women now seem more interested in their phones than our conversation.

“Hey, man, thanks for coming out tonight,” Kent says, mistaking my distraction for social fatigue. “Don’t worry about me; I’ll catch a ride.”

“No problem,” I reply, standing up. “You enjoy your night.”

Stepping outside, the cacophony of the bar dims behind the closing door, and the city’s soundscape takes over—the distant rush of traffic, the rhythm of the bridge as I drive over the Lions Gate.

“God, Ava,” I whisper, shaking my head. The way she recoiled, subtly yet undeniably, after the call—I know that dance of intimacy followed by retreat all too well.

She’s afraid. And it’s my fault.

Last time, I was a storm that left without warning, leaving wreckage in my wake. But I’ve changed, I’ve learned. Now I’m the calm, not the mess.

The skyline of North Vancouver emerges, a tapestry of light and shadow, and with it, a plan begins to form. King George House—it’s more than just a charity event now; it’s a proving ground. For her. For us. Success there seems key to rebuilding anything we once shared.

“Whatever it takes,” I promise into the night, gripping the steering wheel. “I’ll be there, brick by brick, until every last wall falls.”