21.

Ava

My heart races as I push open the hospital boardroom door on a rainy Wednesday afternoon just a couple weeks later, and the sight that greets me is nothing short of exhilarating. The room is packed, a sea of eager faces turned toward me. This is the largest room I could secure, and it’s standing room only. The last weeks have been split, with half my time preparing for the King George House fundraising event and half my time doing my cardiology job, and I’ve also made more time for Roman. The energy I spent pushing him away, I’m trying to redirect toward working together. And on all fronts, now it’s go time. Today marks the beginning of something exciting.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” My voice, confident and clear, cuts through the low murmur of conversations. Heads nod, smiles widen, and the room stills, waiting for me to continue. “Thank you all for being here. We’re on the brink of an incredible journey, with just over four weeks to pull together our most ambitious event yet.”

I pause, letting the gravity of our timeline sink in. We’ve got invitations that need to wing their way across the city, stat. I look around the room and my gaze stops when I see Zara standing in the back. “What are you doing here?”

She smiles. “I’m here to support my best friend.”

My heart soars. “Thank you!”

I realize everyone is watching our interaction. “Ladies and gentlemen, the wonderful Zara Foster. Fresh out of the courtroom and here to help.”

There’s laughter and applause, and I pick up a marker and turn toward the whiteboard.

“First on the agenda,” I say, “is the arrival experience.” I weave a picture of our 1920s theme and the immediate cocktails and photo op that will greet the guests.

Nods of approval ripple through the crowd.

“Of course, that’s just the start. We’ve got a slew of opportunities for you to be part of that evening.” I list them, each bulletpoint accompanied by a corresponding notation on the whiteboard. “We’ll need catering assistance, decor setup, and event flow management, making sure our esteemed guests don’t wander into the private areas of the Martin home.”

My gaze drifts over the assembled group, meeting eyes, connecting with each volunteer. “And of course,” I add with a smirk, “there’s the glamorous job of meeting the tent company and overseeing the setup of what might be the pièce de résistance of the night.”

Laughter bubbles up around the room, and I feel it, a shared sense of purpose. It’s about creating magic, and every single person here is a magician in their own right.

“Are we ready to make this event sing?” I ask.

A resounding Yes fills the room, echoing off the walls and straight into my soul. This is what it’s all about—this unity, this drive, this shared vision of success.

“Then let’s get to work!” I declare, a cheerleader rallying her troops. “Sign-up sheets are going around. Let’s fill every slot and show them what we’re made of!”

As the sheets circulate and pens scratch against paper, I step back, allowing myself a moment of quiet pride. This is happening, and it’s happening because we’ve all come together with one goal in mind.

“This is fantastic.” Roman’s voice comes from behind me, warm and appreciative.

I turn to face him. “It’s teamwork,” I insist. “Everything from Cordelia’s meticulous planning last year to Julia’s guidance and generosity.”

“Still,” he insists, “you’re the one leading us into battle. And for that, you deserve recognition.”

“For now, let’s focus on the task at hand.” I laugh. “One step at a time, right?”

“Right,” he agrees, though his eyes linger on mine.

“All right, everyone, next on our list—invitations,” I announce as the crowd settles. “We’ve got stacks of envelopes that need stuffing. It’s not glamorous, but it’s crucial.”

A flurry of hands shoot up, and I point. “One, two, three… Six! Perfect. You’ll find the whole setup in conference room B. Hospital staff invitations will be boxed and delivered to their offices, and the rest….” I pause for effect. “We need to drop them off at Canada Post before they close. Who’s up for a post office dash today?”

Applause fills the boardroom, and the enthusiastic group nods in agreement.

“Now let’s talk about something a little more fun—gift bags.” My smile stretches wider. “Thanks to support from local businesses and the letters Roman and I sent out, we’ve got some fantastic items to share.”

“Who wants to join Team Gift Bag?” I ask, scanning the room. As hands rise, I direct the group to a separate room to assemble the treats. “Remember, these bags are more than just goodies. They’re a symbol of our appreciation. A thank you for supporting King George House and making a difference.”

I glance around the now bustling boardroom as the signups circulate and committees get to work. The afternoon ticks by as Roman and I move through the groups, answering questions and solving problems. As the end of our allotted time draws near, I bring everyone back together for a final discussion.

“Thank you for all your work today,” I tell them. “Before you head out, let’s talk logistics.” I lift a clipboard high for all to see. “This signup here is for the week of the event. As I mentioned before, we’ll need a team to meet with the tent company, oversee the setup, and ensure every detail is perfect.”

The clipboard makes its way from hand to hand.

“Let’s not forget about the tables and chairs,” I add. “They’ll be arriving separately, and we’ll need a strong contingent to arrange them under the tent before the linens and table settings can be put together.”

“Twenty people,” someone calls. “You got it!”

“Twenty,” I confirm with a nod. “Thank you!” My heart swells as the lists fill up, each name a pledge of support, a brick in the foundation of our cause.

“Perfect,” I say, surveying the room one last time, feeling the weight of responsibility—and possibility—resting squarely on my shoulders. “Thank you so much to each and every one of you. I appreciate you being here. And to my co-chair, Roman Quinlan, thank you as well. We’re all making this happen, together.”

Roman approaches, his eyes warm. “Impressive. You’ve really rallied the troops.”

“Couldn’t do it without you,” I admit, allowing myself the luxury of sharing credit.

As the crowd dissipates, I can tell we’re all riding the same high, the thrill of coming together for a common purpose.

I walk over to find Zara, and she gives me a hug. “You’ve so got this under control. I don’t have any trial work going on right now, so I signed up to help with a lot of things.”

“You’re my best friend forever.” I wrap my arms around her and hug her tight.

Roman approaches, and I hold my breath. Zara was the one who picked me up off the floor when Roman disappeared.

“I know where you live,” she says to him. “And I know how to get away with murder if you pull any stunts.”

“Good to see you again, too, Zara,” he replies.

She turns to me. “I’ve got to get back to work, but I’m planning to be there the night of the event. I’m down with whatever you need me to do.”

“Thank you.” I blow her a kiss and watch her walk out the door.

“Looks like we’re on track,” Roman says with a smile.

“I agree,” I tell him. “We’ve got an organized outline of what’s left to do.”

“Shall we tackle the to-do list over dinner?” he suggests.

“Sure, why not?” I answer, my stomach fluttering with more than hunger. This partnership with Roman is starting to feel right in ways I hadn’t expected.

“Fish and chips at Barney’s?” He tilts his head.

“Perfect,” I agree.

“Shall we? I’m starving,” he says.

“Starving for fish and chips or for more planning?” I tease, gathering my papers.

“Both,” he admits with a grin, and our eyes lock.

After a moment I look away, but I can’t shake the flutter in my stomach. It’s more than pre-event jitters. It’s the thrill of working side by side with Roman, the exhilaration of second chances, and the sweet, terrifying hope of what might unfold between us.

I meet his stare, emboldened by the challenge and promise reflected there. I want him to know I heard what he said about living a full life the other night. “I’ve taken myself off the surgery rotation the week of the party. To ensure everything goes smoothly.”

“Smart.” He nods. “You’ll need every ounce of energy for the big day.”

“Without a doubt.” I stack my papers, aligning them with a few sharp taps on the table. “But right now, I might be running on pure adrenaline.”

“Adrenaline is good,” he says, his voice a low rumble that stirs something within me. “It keeps things interesting.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Come on,” he urges, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s go decompress. You’ve earned at least a short break.”

“Lead the way,” I say, falling into step beside him, our shoulders brushing as we navigate the corridor. The touch is electric, fleeting, and utterly deliberate.

The air outside is cool, evening setting in. As we walk across the street to Barney’s, a hint of possibility lingers around us, an unspoken question hanging in the balance, making each step feel like the start of something new, something exciting.

Roman and I slide into a weathered wooden booth at the corner of the bustling pub. “Can’t remember the last time I had a proper fish and chips,” he muses, scanning the menu even though we’ve already decided on our order.

“Me neither,” I admit. “But after today, I think we deserve it.”

His gaze lifts from the menu, meeting mine. “Absolutely.” He flags down a server, and within moments, we have two frothy pints of ale before us and our order placed.

“So,” he says, setting his elbows on the table, “do you have your dress for the fundraiser?”

“Actually, I do.” I bounce a little in my seat. “I went to the costumer, and they helped me pick out something perfect—a dress that feels both timeless and daring. And a fascinator to match.” I wiggle my eyebrows.

Roman’s smile broadens. “I can only imagine how beautiful you’ll look.”

Heat flushes my cheeks, and I quickly deflect the attention. “What about you? What will you be wearing?”

“Full tails tuxedo,” he says. “And these amazing black and white Oxford Derby shoes I found last week. They’re classic and perfect for the theme.”

“Sounds dashing,” I tease, sipping my ale.

“I have to look worthy of the world’s best event co-chair,” he quips.

The fish and chips arrive, golden and crispy, the aroma alone making my mouth water. We dig in, the food a delicious distraction from the tension that simmers between us.

When the meal ends and the plates have been cleared, Roman reaches over and takes my hand. His touch is gentle, reassuring. The moment stretches, and then he leans in closer, his breath warm against my cheek. Our lips meet in a kiss that’s deep and full of promise, sending shockwaves through me.

We pull apart, and I’m left floating on air, my mind spinning. Controlled chaos—that’s one way to describe the whirlwind of planning this gala. But now there’s another kind of chaos brewing, one that has everything to do with Roman and the connection we share.

As we step out into the night, Roman’s arm finds its way around my shoulders, a protective, yet possessive gesture that sends another thrill through me. There’s still so much to do before the event, checklists and confirmations and endless details. Yet, amidst all that, the possibility of something more with Roman—a second chance—feels still more promising, exhilarating.

“Let’s tackle it all together,” Roman whispers, as if reading my thoughts.

“Together,” I confirm.