By Friday morning, the office felt louder than usual. The kind of noise that wasn’t volume but tension dressed as chatter. Ava sensed it before Chloe said anything.
"Guess who’s making headlines again," Chloe sang, sliding a tablet across the desk. A familiar face filled the screen—Evan, camera in hand, standing beside a woman whose name had once belonged to a thousand stories.
Laura.
"They’re doing a charity shoot for the Children’s Arts Foundation," Chloe continued. "He’s volunteering as lead photographer. She’s managing wardrobe."
Ava blinked once, twice. "Good for them."
"You say that like it’s a dental appointment."
"I’m happy for the cause," Ava said. "Kids, art, philanthropy."
Chloe tilted her head. "Sure. And your clenched jaw is donating tension."
"I have work."
"You have feelings," Chloe countered.
Ava opened her laptop, pretending the screen could block everything else. The typing helped—a rhythm she could control.
Laura. The woman who had once known Evan’s favorite coffee order, his habits behind the lens, the playlists that made him focus. A name that still lived somewhere between curiosity and ache.
At lunch, the team gathered around the break room table. Someone mentioned the charity shoot again. Greg walked in with his habitual smirk. "Brooks and the ex, huh? Bold move."
Chloe shot him a warning glance. "Don’t start."
"What? I’m celebrating artistic collaboration." He looked at Ava. "You going to the shoot?"
"Why would I?"
"Support. Optics. Closure. Pick one."
"I have deadlines."
"Deadlines don’t stop jealousy," Greg said.
Ava looked up sharply. "Excuse me?"
He raised his hands. "Just saying—if it were me, I’d want to know the ex wasn’t better."
"That’s a terrible philosophy."
"That’s human nature," he said, shrugging.
"Human nature needs therapy."
The room laughed, breaking the tension, but her pulse stayed uneven.
By four, she had rewritten the same email three times. Words like "deliverables" and "timeline" blurred into background noise. Her phone buzzed—Evan’s name.
*Wish you luck today*, the message read.
*You too,* she typed, then deleted.
She tried again. *Busy day here. Hope the shoot goes well.*
*Thanks. You’d like the chaos here.*
She hesitated. *Laura’s there, right?*
*Yeah. We’re good teammates.*
Teammates. The word sat wrong. Too clean, too diplomatic.
She locked her phone and exhaled through her teeth.
At six, Chloe appeared beside her with two scarves and zero patience. "We’re going."
"Where?"
"The studio. I RSVP’d for both of us."
"Chloe—"
"Don’t fight destiny. Or my Uber reservation."
Ava groaned. "You’re impossible."
"And yet effective."
The studio was a converted warehouse downtown—white brick walls, tall windows, strings of lights curling across metal beams. Music hummed under the buzz of conversation. Models, volunteers, stylists. Evan moved through the space with his camera, relaxed, purposeful, radiant in that quiet way he had when work became instinct.
Laura stood beside a rack of clothes, clipboard in hand, sleeves rolled up, calm efficiency in motion. She noticed Ava almost instantly and smiled.
"Hi, you must be Ava. I’ve heard a lot."
"Likewise," Ava said, tone polite, neutral, carefully balanced.
Laura extended a hand. "Thanks for coming. He’s always more focused when you’re around."
Ava’s throat tightened. "I didn’t realize I was part of the equipment."
Laura laughed lightly. "Oh, you are. The best kind."
"Great," Ava said. "I’ll try not to malfunction."
Evan appeared between them like a well-timed distraction. "You made it," he said, his grin too casual to be unintentional.
"Chloe made me," Ava replied.
"I’ll take the blame," Chloe said, waving toward the catering table. "If anyone asks, I’m here for the free pastries."
Laura handed Evan a tape roll, their fingers brushing with the ease of people who’d worked together a hundred times before. Ava caught it—the familiarity, the rhythm—and hated that it was so graceful.
"You need any help?" Ava asked.
Evan looked surprised. "You sure?"
"I can hold reflectors. I’m excellent at standing very still."
"Perfect," he said, smiling too warmly. "You’ll fit right in."
The shoot began again. Music rose and fell between shots, laughter moving through the space like current. Evan crouched, stood, adjusted lenses, lost in his own world. Ava held the reflector, watching him through the mirror’s bounce of light, catching fragments of his focus—the small frown of concentration, the ease in his shoulders, the quiet hum he made when the shot clicked just right.
Laura floated around the set, fixing collars, tying ribbons, whispering encouragements to nervous kids. She was good—too good. And kind, which was worse.
"She’s nice," Chloe said beside her.
"Don’t start."
"I’m saying she’s nice, not perfect."
"Same difference."
"You can relax. You’re not competing."
"It feels like I am."
"Then you’re losing to a ghost, not a woman."
Ava didn’t answer. The light shifted through the window, a pale gold across the concrete floor. She caught Evan looking at her once—just once—his mouth curved in a small, private smile. It vanished when Laura called his name.
They broke for dinner around eight. Everyone moved toward the pizza boxes and soda cans. Ava stood near the window, needing space more than food. The city outside looked sharp, neon-edged, impatient.
Laura joined her. "He told me about the fake-dating thing," she said.
Ava blinked. "He did?"
"Yeah. Before the rumors got wild."
"Oh," Ava said carefully. "And what do you think?"
"I think he doesn’t fake much well," Laura said. "Never could lie without tripping over truth."
Ava exhaled a soft laugh. "That sounds like him."
"Still does," Laura said. Then she hesitated. "For what it’s worth, I like who he is around you."
Ava frowned. "What do you mean?"
"He’s quieter. Focused. I don’t know—like he finally stopped running."
Ava looked at her reflection in the window instead of answering. Outside, lights flickered in puddles.
"That’s temporary," she said at last.
"Maybe," Laura said. "But temporary can still be real."
The words stayed with her long after Laura left.
When the shoot ended, volunteers clapped, cameras clicked off, and exhaustion replaced adrenaline. Evan stacked tripods near the wall. His shirt sleeves were wrinkled, his hair slightly messy, his grin stupidly calm.
"You didn’t have to stay," he said.
"I know."
"Thanks anyway."
"Don’t thank me. I was just observing the wildlife."
"How’s the data?"
"Chaotic. Potentially charming."
He laughed, and the sound softened the edge she’d carried all day.
"You want to grab food?" he asked.
"You already fed me vicariously through pizza grease."
"Real food then. Noodles?"
"That’s dangerously becoming our thing."
"I’m okay with dangerous."
Outside, the night smelled like wet concrete and camera flash residue. Evan’s car waited by the curb.
"You’re quiet," he said as they drove.
"I’m thinking."
"About?"
"How jealousy feels a lot like altitude sickness."
"Painful?"
"Unexpected. Makes you forget to breathe."
"You could’ve stayed home."
"I could’ve," she said. "But then I’d still be wondering."
He smiled faintly. "So you came for answers."
"I came to see if it still mattered."
"And?"
"It does," she admitted. "More than I want it to."
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. The road opened in front of them, empty and forgiving.
"Then maybe it’s real," he said quietly.
She turned to him, heart beating too loud. "Maybe," she said.
The red light changed to green, and neither of them moved.
Then he laughed, soft and incredulous. "You know my mom’s going to plan a wedding after brunch, right?"
"She can plan all she wants," Ava said. "We don’t have to show up."
"True. But we might."
She looked out the window, smiling into the dark.
"Maybe," she whispered again.
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