Chapter Three: Bitter Coffee

Ava POV

The next time I saw him was at Bailey Coffee Shop.

We'd been coming here since we were kids. But he'd moved across town, and I assumed he'd found a closer place—something more convenient. More Harper-approved.

Still, I'd chosen the most spectacular outfit. Colorful. Intentional. I worked with kids—of course I knew how to put an outfit together.

I ordered a lavender matcha. I needed calming caffeine after the shift I just had.

I probably smelled.

I sniffed under my arm.

Yep. Like I hadn't showered in three days.

Which was basically true—36 hours on the floor will do that to you. Hospital time.

And I'm sure the kids who gifted me vomit, blood, and every bodily fluid in between didn't help.

Especially the little boy I met this morning.

Gregory.

Or as I'd dubbed him, Greggy.

He was new. I could tell by the way his parents hovered, by the wide-eyed way he clutched his jacket.

I was handing out morning meds when I spotted him.

I crouched in front of him, flashed my name tag with a smile.

"If you tell me a joke," I whispered, "I'll tell you my name."

He blinked at me. Then:

"Really?!"

I nodded, solemn as a knight.

"Uh... why did the chicken cross the road?"

"Hmm..." I tapped my chin. "Was it to get pancakes on the other side?"

"Pancakes?"

"Yep. We've got a whole pancake club here. For new chickens joining our flock."

His parents exchanged a look. His mom gave a nod.

"It's okay, Gregory. Go have fun."

I grabbed his hand like we were heading off on a secret mission.

"Wait—you didn't tell me your name!"

"It's Ava the Whimsical," I said with a bow.

He giggled.

I made a mental note to check in with his parents later.

The first few days of chemo were always the worst.

⸻

Back at the coffee shop :

God, please don't let me run into anyone I know.

Too late.

I turned—and there he was.

Or more specifically, he.

River.

Those unforgettable gray eyes, locked on mine across the room.

I looked away. Pretended I hadn't seen him.

Searched for the nearest exit.

Then peeked again.

And there it was. That look.

The one that could pull a confession from a corpse. The one that made arguments crumble before they began.

I shook my head.

He casually pointed at the chair across from him.

Ugh. Fine.

I was halfway to sitting when she slid in beside him.

Harper.

River looked calm. Like—well, an actual river.

Calm as the Nile.

Calm as uh—

He's just... calm.

I shifted in my seat.

This is fine. Totally fine.

I clutched my iced matcha like a life preserver. Condensation dripped onto my scrubs, but whatever. My fingers needed something to hold onto. My dignity had already left the building.

"It's nice to see you. Here. Today."

I smiled. Too wide. Too fake. The kind that belongs on a cereal box.

River didn't smile back.

"You and I have been coming here since we were kids," he said.

"Let's not pretend this is surprising."

Right. That tone.

Dry as overcooked toast.

I nodded slowly.

Willed the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

⸻

River POV

I'd notice that inky black hair anywhere.

Ava.

She slipped in, hair tied with that technicolor scrunchie her mom gave her—on one of her rare sober days. Purple-and-pink scrubs. A ridiculous name tag: "Tell me a joke, I'll tell you my name."

I half-smiled.

She always had a way about her.

The smile soured when she looked right at me—then tried to pretend she hadn't.

But I saw her.

She knew better than to play that game.

She looked like a mouse caught in a trap.

But still, she came.

Sat down across from Harper and me.

She smiled like she wanted to disappear.

I knew that smile.

I'd seen it when she got caught sneaking out of AP Bio.

When her grandfather called during chemo.

When I left her bedroom without saying goodbye.

Ava's "this is fine but I'm dying" smile.

And yet, here she was—mismatched scrubs, technicolor scrunchie, that ridiculous name tag.

And those eyes. Still green. Still full of everything she never says.

We used to tell each other everything.

I could read her from across the room.

We passed notes in class like little secrets. Inside jokes and tiny truths scribbled in the margins of textbooks.

She wasn't just my first love.

She was my best friend.

And then she shut me out.

I still don't know why.

Was it Frankie? The kids? Was it my mother?

Rachel had always been more frigid than torrid. Controlled. Calculated. She smiled like secrets lived behind her teeth.

Or—God help me—was it me?

Ava never said.

She never told me. Just said she was done.

I need to figure this out.

I need to hear it from her lips. Real answers. Not polite lies.

Because I can't—truly—move on until I do.

Then Harper's arm slid around mine.

Light. Possessive.

I didn't flinch.

But I didn't lean in, either.

⸻

Harper POV

They thought I couldn't see it.

The unfinished sentence in River's jaw.

The way Ava wouldn't quite meet my eyes.

It was almost sweet—like watching two kids pretend they hadn't written each other tragic love letters and lit them on fire.

I wonder how she does under pressure.

I let my gaze drift over her—slow, deliberate.

She wasn't anything special.

Ridiculous scrubs. Sleep-deprived eyes. Hair barely held together with a technicolor scrunchie that screamed emotional support.

And she was a nurse?

I was surprised.

River radiated composure. Precision. Quiet brilliance.

That's what drew me to him the day we first met.

He was wearing a doctor's coat.

He looked delicious—clean-cut, professional, polished.

Exactly the kind of man I'd always imagined for myself.

My father was an engineer. My mother, a corporate attorney.

They spent years breathing grace and ambition into me.

River and I just made sense.

But the two of them?

They didn't.

And yet—Ava was becoming an issue.

River had changed since seeing her again.

He'd stopped initiating.

Stopped reaching.

Stopped... trying.

It was subtle. But I noticed. Of course I did.

He was pulling away. And I was starting to feel it.

I looked at her again.

I suppose she was pretty. In a tired, earnest kind of way.

But the one sitting beside River?

That was me.

I smoothed my hand down his forearm, my voice warm and sharp as glass.

"So this is the famous Ava," I said, smiling like I meant it.

"I feel like I already know you."

She blinked.

Caught between fight and flight.

Cute.

⸻

Ava POV

"Famous?" I repeated. A little too high-pitched. Choked a little on my matcha.

This is officially the worst threesome I've ever experienced in my life.

And I've never experienced a threesome. For the record.

River's jaw tightened—barely.

"River mentions you often," Harper said breezily, like her drink came with poison and pearls.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

She was exactly the kind of girl Rachel Bell would summon via Ouija board and a Neiman Marcus catalog.

Auburn hair. Doe eyes. Manicure from the gods.

Devil's incarnate twin.

With perfect posture.

He didn't look at me.

"Not that often," he muttered.

Oh. Oh really?

Last week you were in my bedroom, River. Don't act brand new.

I pushed my chair back suddenly, almost knocking over my drink.

"Well," I said, too loud. "As fun as this conversation is, I've gotta run. Late for a—uh... thing."

⸻

River POV

Her exit was graceless. Rushed. Familiar.

I should've said something. Reached for her.

Told Harper to stop.

Told Ava that I still remember the way she hums when she brushes her teeth. That I still keep a bottle of her shampoo in the shower.

The one Harper asked me to throw out.

This morning, actually.

That memory lit up behind my eyes like a bad night out.

Harper had been moving her things in, bit by bit.

I didn't mind. Not really.

It felt like the next step.

Like I was following a checklist someone else had written.

I never officially asked her to move in.

It was more of a "this is easier" kind of thing.

I was eating breakfast. Eggs, toast—simple stuff to settle my stomach before a shift from hell.

She was in the bathroom, tossing things out. Little things. Things that didn't "fit."

It felt invasive.

Like she was painting over carefully chosen wallpaper.

There were bits of Ava everywhere.

A scrunchie in the drawer.

A sweater shoved in the back of the closet.

And the shampoo.

Berry-scented. Hers.

She peeked out of the bathroom, holding it up.

"Is this fine to toss?"

"No," I said—too fast.

She paused, actually looked at it then.

Didn't say anything.

She didn't have to.

"It's almost empty," she said eventually. Calm. Restrained.

"Let's just toss it out."

She dropped it in the trash. I fished it back out.

"I said no, Harper."

Then, softer—tired:

"Let's just get coffee. Take a break from the move."

"Fine," she said.

And now here we are.

At Bailey Coffee.

With her.

And Ava.

And me not reaching for the only person I actually wanted to reach for.

She'd told me she was done.

And maybe she was.

So I just watched her go.

⸻

Harper POV

She practically bolted.

When Rachel mentioned this little problem, she said it would be easily remedied.

But River looked more than just "barely involved."

This wasn't casual. Not even close.

I'd need to arrange a lunch.

Learn a bit more about "Ava Moore."

I sipped my latte and crossed my legs, ankle over knee.

River didn't say a word.

He didn't have to.

His eyes were still on the door.

And that told me everything I needed to know.

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