8.

Roman

I was sitting alone at our table at Zeffirelli’s—a secluded nook that feels like the only place in the world—when she walked in. Ava. My breath snagged in my throat. She’s radiance personified, the most beautiful woman in the world, and tonight, I’m determined to lay everything on the line for her.

Once we’ve managed the first of our business at hand, the server comes to take our order—the lasagna for me and spaghetti and meatballs, the house specialty, for Ava.

I point to the wine bottles lining the wall. “I think we drank that whole section?” I chuckle, seeking the lightness that always used to come so easily between us.

“You could be right.” She smiles, her gaze lingering on a particular vintage before returning to mine.

“I got word from Griffin Martin today.” I smooth the napkin on my lap. “He’s going to secure a few things for the silent auction.”

“Griffin?” Her eyebrows rise slightly. “That’s big. His family’s company could donate something pretty spectacular.”

“Exactly.” I nod. “I’m thinking the latest iPhone model, the best they have.”

“Sounds perfect,” Ava agrees, and we riff on a few other ideas, building up the list with each suggestion more creative than the last.

“Can I interrupt for a moment?” The owner approaches our table with an affable grin. “How are you both this evening? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Tell me you didn’t find a better Italian restaurant.”

Ava laughs. “That would never be possible.”

“We’ve missed you. Do you have children yet?”

“Oh, we’re no longer dating. We’re here on business, planning a fundraiser for the hospital—for King George House,” I explain. “Actually, we wanted to ask you about the silent auction. Could we ask for a donation? Maybe a dinner for two? I can send a letter or email with the details.”

“Ah, I’d be honored to contribute,” he declares. “I’ll put together something special before you leave tonight.”

“Thank you, that’s incredibly generous.” Ava expresses our gratitude so gracefully.

“Anything for such a good cause—and for my favorite patrons,” he responds before excusing himself.

Ava and I share a look, acknowledging this victory. These moments remind me of all the reasons I fell for her in the first place.

The server arrives and delivers our meals with a flourish.

“So, pediatric medicine, huh?” she says as we begin to eat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her gesture achingly familiar. “What drew you to it?”

“Kids,” I respond, my heart swelling with the joy they bring into my days, even when those days are long and trying. “They’re honest, resilient… They remind me to find wonder in the small things.” I scoop up a forkful of lasagna and savor the incredible taste. “And their laughter… It’s like music, isn’t it?”

Ava’s smile is a gentle sunrise, casting a warm glow over the icy divide between us. “It must be incredibly rewarding.”

“Rewarding and challenging,” I admit.

She pauses, her fork halfway to her lips, and a shadow crosses her face, a fleeting pain that grips my chest. “I lost my dad to colon cancer just over a year ago,” she whispers.

My hand reaches out before my mind can process the motion, thumb gently catching the tear that escapes her eye. “Ava, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there for you.”

She leans into my touch, a silent acknowledgment of the shared regret. “It was rough. Mom’s still struggling but…I try to be there as much as possible. And Ethan’s working up in Alberta, overseeing one of the diamond mines.”

“Your family’s strong, like you.” The words tumble out, earnest and true. “You’ve always had this incredible strength. Even now, it’s inspiring.”

“Strength feels a lot like muddling through sometimes.” She chuckles, but her eyes don’t meet mine.

It takes a few minutes, but we fall back into a rhythm that feels both new and deeply ingrained, laughter spilling over the tabletop.

“Remember the Henderson twins?” I ask, recalling a particularly rambunctious pair from our med-school days.

“How could I forget? They set the anatomy lab on fire!” Ava laughs.

The chemistry between us crackles. Leaning closer, I catch the scent of her perfume, a floral note that tickles my senses. Our eyes lock, and there’s an entire conversation in that gaze, a history we can’t deny.

“Can I just—” I start, voice barely above a whisper, and without waiting for an answer, I close the distance, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss that feels like coming home.

She kisses me back, her hand coming to rest against my cheek, and I’m lost in the feel of her, in the rightness of this moment. But the clearing of a throat snaps us back to reality, and I break away, reluctantly.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the owner says, though his eyes are gleaming with mischief. He sets a giant gift basket between us. “Thought you might enjoy this. A few bottles of wine and treats for a romantic picnic. There’s also a gift certificate, so the winner can order dinner and pick it up or eat here in the restaurant.”

Ava’s eyes widen. “This is amazing,” she breathes, and I agree.

“Thank you,” I tell him. Not just for the basket, but for this chance his restaurant has provided.

We finish our meal, put a pin in our planning details, and then the cool night air brushes against my skin as I flag down the rideshare. Ava stands beside me, and the scent of her perfume fills the air between us, lingering even after she steps away.

“Roman,” she says uncertainly, “about tonight…”

“Hey.” I turn to her, our eyes meeting in the dimly lit street. “I know it’s late, but would you… Would you like to come home with me?”

She hesitates, biting her lip in that way that tells me she’s conflicted. And just like that, I can see the past rising in her eyes, the hurt I once caused casting shadows over this moment.

I reach out, resting my hand on her arm. “Ava, I’m not perfect. But I promise, I’ll do everything I can not to break your trust again.”

She searches my face. “Let’s go to my place. We still haven’t finalized the plans for the event.”

“Of course,” I reply. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

The rideshare pulls up, its headlights cutting through the darkness. As we slide into the backseat, the closeness feels different—charged. She gives the driver her address, and we settle into the leather upholstery.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, “for understanding.”

“Always,” I assure her. My heart races, a drumbeat of anticipation. Tonight isn’t about rekindling flames or rehashing old wounds. It’s about building something new, one careful step at a time.

We talk softly during the drive, the conversation flowing easily—plans for the auction, ideas for donations. When her laugh fills the car, light and unguarded, it feels like a victory.

“Here we are,” the driver announces, pulling up to a charming two-story home very close to the hospital. It’s bathed in the soft glow of porch lights.

“Thanks,” I tell him, stepping out onto the pavement.

Ava leads the way to her front door. “Come on in,” she says, a hint of nervousness in her smile. “There’s coffee, or if you prefer, we could open a bottle of wine—although I’m not drinking. I have a surgery tomorrow.”

“Let’s stick with water then,” I suggest, following her inside. “We’ve got planning to do, right?”

“Right,” she echoes.

Her house is warm, lived-in, and welcoming—a reflection of her—and as the door closes behind us, I step inside with hope and determination.