Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

AVA

I draw in a long, deep breath as I step out onto the deck of my vacation rental. I resisted when Gabriella wanted to bring me into town so early, but my friend was right that I needed a vacation. Not that this fits vacation criteria, really, but with less on my plate and my focus on Gabriella's wedding, it's enough of a break for me. Plus she made it easier to say yes in the end by arranging everything for my stay, including messaging the host to confirm that I could check in tonight instead of tomorrow after my flight got changed unexpectedly.

Gabriella wanted me to stay in Houston with her tonight, but I need time to center before I face her and all the anxious feelings planning her wedding has brought up for me, a tightness in my chest I can't quite get rid of. Her wedding is important. The former Miss Texas has big plans, and while it will be personal, it's also going to be the start of her five-year plan to run for a senate seat for Texas. I have to admit that one of the reasons I finally ended up agreeing to come so early is so I can make sure everything goes off without a hitch and so I can be here personally to oversee things to make it perfect.

The idea that the real reason I'm doing this for Gabriella is selfish wiggles at the back of my brain. I swore off doing events for friends a couple of years ago. I know how that can go sideways and ruin relationships. And still I said yes to Gabriella, one of my closest friends. Because her wedding is more than just a wedding. It's a hint of the fundraisers and dinners and galas I used to plan, the ones I really excelled at. But it's so complicated. My love for those events is too tied up in my biggest failure as an event planner.

I drop into a cozy deck chair, letting the slight breeze blow away the tension from the long flight and a long day and thoughts I don't want to tackle right now. Like the fact that Gabriella's wedding is putting me in the spotlight and I'm nervous about it. I don't browse social media a lot unless it's for work, but I've already seen a few posts about that wedding that are low-key questioning having me plan such a high-profile wedding given my past mistakes. I keep telling myself the wedding is going to be perfect and I won't find myself in the middle of a social media storm … again.

Noises from inside the house make me sit up straight and scowl. Did the host not realize they already had someone booked for tonight when they let me come early? As someone who's seen her fair share of accidental double-bookings for events, I wouldn't be surprised.

I lean sideways in the chair, turning to see through the sliding glass door that leads back into the house. Am I imagining the flicker of a shadow in the hallway?

I pull out my phone from my pocket and place my fingers on the side buttons, just in case, ready to call emergency services with the flick of my fingers. I stand now and move closer to the door, wanting to be sure I'm alone but afraid to go inside. I don't see anything, but my heart pounds hard enough that I reach up and put my hand over it.

Quietly, I take the steps down off the deck and walk slowly around the house toward the front. I'll feel better meeting a stranger out in the open. Because if it is someone trying to break in or something, I'd rather have the option to run away than be stuck inside. A truck is parked in the driveway—a truck that wasn't there thirty minutes ago when I arrived.

"Excuse me, this is private property," a deep male voice says.

I jump and scream, my phone flying from my hands and skidding through the grass. I immediately drop to the ground, trying to find it, glancing back and forth between the grass and the dark figure striding toward me from the driveway.

The very big dark figure. At least six-four, by my estimation. I know that height well, though I've spent years trying to forget exactly how tall six-four is. The figure is broad-shouldered too. So probably really strong. I skim my hands along the ground, praying I'll come up with my phone before it's too late. Maybe I should run without the phone and hope I can make it to the neighbor's house before the intruder catches up.

"I'm calling the police!" I cry, bluffing one hundred percent. Can he hear the lie in the squeak of my voice?

" You're calling the police? You're the one trespassing."

"What?" My hands finally make contact with the phone, and I snatch it up, flicking the bar across the screen to dial 911 before standing up and backing away.

The figure steps into the glow of one of the lights that run along the underside of the eaves. "Oh," I say softly, blinking at the—yes, very large—man before me. He's just as attractive as I remember. "Jett McCombs," I breathe.

He huffs. "Look, being a fan isn't an excuse to trespass. I'm sorry, but you need to leave, or I'm going to call the police, and not to sound entitled, but the chief is on my speed dial."

He doesn't recognize me?

I have been mostly absent from social media the last couple of years, and it's not like he stayed my friend after I left Reno, but it's hard to imagine I've changed so much that the man I was once set to marry, the man I planned to spend forever with, doesn't even know who I am. Hurt zings through at the thought that he's erased me so fully from his life. I haven't exactly been expecting him to call me up and want to kiss and make up, but I haven't forgotten him either.

Wait. I'm standing in the shadow of the bushes where I finally found my phone. Squaring my shoulders, I take a step into another circle of light in the yard, facing Jett with what I hope is a strong expression and no evidence that my insides have completely turned to jelly.

Now he freezes. He narrows his eyes. "Ava?" And then comes the expression I expected. A fierce glare. "What are you doing here?"

Jen's Beach Escape. Jenna. Gabriella arranged the stay, paid for it and everything, so I only looked at the website once to check out the house. The profile picture was of a family on the beach near the house, and far enough away that I couldn't distinguish features. I hadn't thought to click on it to inspect it closer. Why would I? How would I have ever guessed that Jett's sister-in-law owned a vacation rental on Galveston Bay?

"What are you doing here?" Jett repeats, his voice colder than before. "If you're looking for me, you could've called first?—"

"The host—Jenna, I guess—said it was fine if I checked in tonight instead." I can't seem to get more words out.

Gabriella's fiancé, Colby, is a teammate of Jett's; I know at least that much. With me planning the wedding of a Puma player, I expected to run into Jett at some point, but not like this. I have no idea if he and Colby are friends or not. I know so little about him now beyond that he'd gone professional just like he'd planned and that he was back in Texas playing for the Pumas. I only know what I see when I watch the Pumas games on TV, and I don't really go looking for more. What's the point? We were supposed to get married, but when things went wrong, he had no interest in forgiving me. He hasn't spoken to me since the night I left.

" You're the wedding planner?" He takes a step back. "I thought you did, like, dinners or other events or something."

That he knows what I do for a living surprises me. Event management wasn't in the plans when we were together; it was something I discovered I loved and had a knack for after coming home to Houston.

"Weddings are events," I finally say. Happily-ever-after events that I can handle. "Gabriella is a college friend. If you want to call Jenna to confirm everything, that's fine. I'll just"—now it was me who took a step back—"wait here."

Jett stares at me for a moment longer before turning and yanking out his phone. He's stopped from dialing by the arrival of a police car, lights flashing, in the driveway.

I pull my own phone back out, and sure enough, I have a call going, one I forgot about when I realized it was Jett McCombs standing in the yard.

"So, um, it turns out I have the police on speed dial too," I say.