14.

Ava

Panic grips me like a vise as I slide into the backseat of the rideshare, my mind racing. No venue. No backup. How could everything have unraveled so quickly?

I’m already typing out a to-do list on my phone when it buzzes with a new message. It’s Roman.

Roman: Stanley Park’s been booked. We’re back to square one. But don’t worry. I’ve got another plan.

Another plan. Always another plan. I want to trust him, but where does that get me? Maybe this isn’t his fault, but the doubt is a persistent itch I can’t seem to scratch away.

Me: Thanks.

I’m spitting mad, and I need to stop before I say something I know I’ll regret. Exactly what went wrong doesn’t matter. The outcome has to be my focus, and my own plan is forming. I need to comb through every contact, call in every favor. The hospital will be my war room. I’ll find us a venue or die trying.

I call Zara. She answers on the first ring.

“Hey. What’s up?” she says.

“You won’t believe this…” I tell her the entire story of the contract mishap.

“Do you believe him?” she asks.

I sigh and think about Roman. The event also reflects on him, and he was the one who kept track of the due date and made sure I knew he’d take care of it. “I guess so. I’m sure hotels mess things up all the time. I’m just mad that we have so little time now and all the stress of finding a new venue. We’re down to four months, and already it’s hard.”

“I agree. I don’t think he’d have forgotten, with everything on the line. Probably some internal screwup at the Xenia, and they’ll never admit it. What are you going to do next?”

The rideshare pulls up at the hospital. “Find another place to have the party.”

“You’ve got this,” she assures me.

“Thanks for talking me off the ledge,” I tell her as I get out of the rideshare and walk toward the entrance.

“Anytime.”

We say our goodbyes as the doors slide open, and I hit the ground running, my sneakers taking me to the sanctuary of my office. I’ve just rounded the corner when a familiar voice stops me dead in my tracks.

“Dr. Winters!” Davis Martin calls. His face is strained.

“Dr. Martin,” I reply, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “What’s up?”

“It’s about Jake Adams, my seventeen-year-old patient with an enlarged heart? I could use your consult.”

“Of course,” I tell him, pushing the fundraiser fiasco to the back of my mind. This is what I do. This is where I shine. We walk together, his pace brisk and purposeful.

We enter his office, a shrine to familial love with framed photos and childlike scribbles only a parent could cherish. I smile at the artwork. “Your boys did these?”

“Yep, they get all their artistic talent from their mother, thank goodness. They keep life…interesting,” he says with a chuckle.

“Looks like a handful,” I say.

“Every day,” Davis replies, flipping open Jake’s medical file. He recounts the teen’s collapse during a hockey game, the quick-thinking coach who kept death at bay with steady compressions. My heart clenches for the boy, for the fear he must’ve felt.

“His case is severe—hypertrophic cardiomyopathy,” Davis explains, pointing to the echocardiogram images. HCM, as we often call it, is when the muscles in the heart have thickened, reducing the size of the heart chambers. “We’re looking at a septal myomectomy.”

“Removing part of the muscle to widen the ventricular channel,” I murmur, considering the delicate procedure. “It’s the best shot we have to save his life.”

“Exactly. I wanted your eyes on it before we move forward.” His trust in me eases the sting of today’s failures.

“Let’s go over the details,” I suggest. Together, we dive into the intricacies of the surgery, our minds melding. Davis is the pediatric cardiologist, but Jake is seventeen and over six feet tall. Davis is used to working on hearts that are no bigger than two almonds, and this will have different requirements. That’s where I come in.

For a moment, the world outside this office—with its missing venues and desperate fundraisers—fades into insignificance. Right now, there’s only the medicine, the problem-solving, the relentless drive to heal.

“Thank you,” Davis says as we conclude our consultation. “You always have a way of making the impossible seem manageable.”

“Anytime. That’s what we’re here for, right?” I give him a tight-lipped smile, feeling my other responsibilities snap back into focus. The fundraiser, Roman’s endless plans… There’s still so much to do. But for now, I take solace in the knowledge that here, in these hospital halls, I can make a difference.

“I might be able to join you for the surgery, if you need me,” I say, closing the patient’s file and placing it on his cluttered desk.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I think it would be a good idea. This is going to be a tough one. And hey, how’s everything going with the King George House fundraiser?”

I sigh. “Actually, not great. We’ve hit a major snag.” My hands twist together as I speak. “We lost our venue. On such short notice, I’m scrambling for options.”

“Lost your venue? That’s rough.” Davis leans back in his chair. “You know what? Let me call my mother. She’s the fundraising queen in this town. Maybe she can pull some strings, find you a place.”

“Would she do that?” Hope flickers, warming me against the chill of desperation.

“Absolutely.” He grins. “She’s a big believer in King George House. Too many can’t afford Vancouver hotels for one night, let alone for weeks on end.”

“Thank you, Davis. That would be amazing.” A surge of gratitude washes over me, and I allow myself to believe that maybe, things could turn around.

“Consider it done. I’ll text her right now.” He reaches for his phone, tapping out a message with swift thumbs.

Leaving Davis’s office, I make my way back to mine. Inside my haven of paperwork and medical journals, I finally allow myself a moment to breathe until my phone buzzes in my pocket. Somehow I have a dozen missed calls from Roman.

I swipe to check the messages he’s bombarded me with. My email shows transcribed voicemails, each more frantic than the last. “I don’t know how this happened. I swear I left the contract there. Please, you have to believe me.”

His words, even in text form, are laced with panic. I imagine him pacing, running his fingers through his hair.

“Believe you?” I whisper. The urge to lash out is strong, to blame him for being careless, but deep down, I know Roman isn’t the type to be negligent. Not with something as important as this. And really, this affects him as much as it does me. If we fail, we fail together.

Forgive him , I tell myself, thinking of Julia Martin possibly coming to our rescue. Focus on what matters—bringing this community together .

The phone rings in my hand, and it’s Roman again.

“I’m sorry I got upset,” I say instead of hello.

“I’m upset too. But I have a lead for a new venue,” he starts. “The Capilano Suspension Bridge has a meeting area. It will be tight for a sit-down dinner for two hundred people, but it might work.”

“That’s great. Let’s go see it. I just worked with Davis Martin on a case, and he’s going to talk to his mother and see what magic she might be able to work.”

“We have options,” Roman says with relief.

“Yes. Let’s see what Davis’s mother can work out for us.” I close my eyes for a moment. “We’ll fix this, somehow.”

We disconnect, and I try to shift my concentration to the cases I’m working on.

But not half an hour later, my ringtone scrambles my focus. A local number, unfamiliar, flashes on the screen. With a start, I answer, “Hello? Dr. Winters speaking.”

“Dr. Winters, it’s Julia Martin,” comes the warm voice of Davis’s mother. “I’ve heard about your venue troubles for the King George House fundraiser. How distressing.”

“Yes, it’s quite the setback,” I admit, rising to pace by the window, watching the sunset paint the sky in strokes of fire and amber. I update her on what happened. “We’re down to four months, and we’re not even at square one.”

Julia hums thoughtfully. “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve heard of such mishaps at the Xenia.” There’s a beat of silence. “I’ll see what I can do, call around, talk to the hotel. We need to make this event happen.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Martin. That means more than I can say,” I reply.

“Please, call me Julia. And Ava,” she adds, her tone firm yet kind, “forgive Roman. These things happen. Keep pushing forward together. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

“Okay, Julia. Thank you again,” I say before ending the call. Her words resonate within me, confirming I’ve taken the right path.

I take a deep breath and tap the screen. It connects immediately.

“Roman here,” he answers.

“Roman, it’s Ava. Julia Martin just called me.”

“Really? What did she say?” He sounds hopeful, desperate for good news.

“Apparently, we’re not the only ones who’ve had issues with the Xenia. She’s going to make some calls and help us look for an alternative,” I relay, leaning against the wall, the coolness grounding me.

“God, I swear I did everything right. I left the contract at the desk,” Roman insists.

“I believe you. Let’s just focus on what’s next,” I concede.

“Right,” he affirms. “Lila and I are going to work on the slideshow, and I’ll reach out to some contacts about the silent-auction items. I sent the letters to last year’s participants already.”

“Let’s keep moving. We have time to find a way to fill the gaps,” I say.

“Yes, for sure. And thanks. For calling. For…believing,” Roman murmurs.

I agree, but as we hang up, I have to wonder just what he thinks I believe.

My phone rings in the morning stillness, and I snatch it from my desk, heart skipping as Julia Martin’s name flashes on the screen. It’s only been two days, and I hope she has good news.

“Hello, Julia,” I say as I answer, setting my paperwork aside.

“Good morning,” she responds warmly. “I have news about the venue situation.”

I grip the phone tighter, bracing myself. “Please tell me it’s good news.”

“Unfortunately, the Xenia Hotel is in disarray. Their head of sales has been let go, and there’s been some chaos.” But then her voice shifts. “However, I have an alternative proposal for you.”

“Anything,” I urge.

“I’d like to offer my home for the event. It’s spacious and has a lovely view of the sound. What do you think?”

I’m momentarily speechless, a happy dance erupting within me. “Julia, that would be incredible! Your home has been in Architectural Digest . It’s more stunning than anything else I could imagine. That’s so generous of you.” My mind races with the possibilities.

“Great! How about we arrange for you and your co-chair to visit a week from Friday afternoon for tea? You can see the space for yourself.”

“Absolutely,” I agree. “We’ll be there. Thank you so much, Julia.”

“Delighted to help. Why don’t you come about two? I’ll see you both then.”

The call ends, and I waste no time dialing Roman, my hands trembling.

“Roman, it’s Ava,” I say as soon as he picks up. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“Try me,” he replies.

“Julia Martin just offered her home for the fundraiser.”

“Her home? As in, the Martin Estate in Point Grey?” He sounds utterly shocked. “That’s fantastic news. So much better than the Capilano Suspension Bridge meeting area.”

“Exactly. Overlooking the sound, away from all the corporate stiffness. It’s perfect.” I’m grinning now, hope blooming in my chest like spring flowers.

“Wow. That’s…that’s amazing. They’re the most influential family around. If we pull this off there, it could mean big things for the fundraiser.”

“Right? And she wants us over for tea a week from Friday to see the place and discuss logistics.” I rise and pace my office, the energy coursing through me too potent to remain still.

“Count me in,” he says. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

“Thanks.” My gratitude is genuine. I’m still glad to have him as my partner in this endeavor.

“Hey…” He pauses.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For trusting me. For keeping this thing afloat.”

“Of course,” I reply. “We’re in this together, right?”

“Right,” he agrees. “Together.”

I hang up, and for the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe. With Julia and Roman on board, we can make this event shine.