“You both are terrible at this.”
Malcolm sighed.
“Ava, relationships are complicated.”
“Why?”
“Because Camille and I work together.”
“So?”
“We own a building together.”
“So?”
“If something goes wrong—”
“Something already went wrong.”
“What?”
“You’re both pretending.”
Malcolm stopped cutting.
His daughter became serious.
“Dad, Mom left.”
He looked at her.
“I know.”
“You think everybody leaves because she did.”
The truth hurt more coming from an eight-year-old.
Ava continued.
“Camille stayed when everything got scary.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I’m just saying.”
She hopped down.
“You always tell me not to be afraid of trying things because I might be bad at them.”
“This isn’t the same.”
“Sounds the same.”
Then she left.
Malcolm stood alone with half-cut vegetables.
He hated when his daughter made sense.
Christmas arrived with cold rain instead of snow.
The gallery closed early.
Malcolm planned a quiet evening with Ava.
Then Camille texted.
Natalie and I are cooking dinner upstairs. You two want to come?
Ava read the message over his shoulder.
“We’re going.”
“You have no privacy.”
“You hold your phone too low.”
At six, they walked into Camille and Natalie’s loft carrying wine and dessert.
The dinner was easy.
Too easy.
Ava helped Natalie cook.
Camille sat beside Malcolm.
After ten minutes, she said quietly, “We need to talk.”
Malcolm’s stomach tightened.
“About?”
“You know.”
He did.
Camille glanced toward the kitchen.
“I’m tired of pretending.”
“Camille—”
“Let me finish.”
She took a breath.
“I like you.”
Malcolm said nothing.
“Not as my business partner.”
“Not as the man who saved the gallery.”
Her voice softened.
“As you.”
He looked toward her.
Camille continued.
“I think about you when you’re not around.”
“I notice when you leave.”
“I look for you when I walk into the building.”
Malcolm’s heart pounded.
“And I’m pretty sure you feel the same thing.”
He should have denied it.
He had rehearsed all the reasons.
Business.
Ava.
Risk.
History.
Instead he said, “I do.”
Camille went still.
Malcolm looked at her.
“I have for a while.”
She exhaled.
“Then why haven’t you said anything?”
“Because I’ve already had someone leave my daughter once.”
Camille’s expression changed.
Malcolm continued.
“If this becomes something and then ends badly, it doesn’t just hurt me.”
“I know.”
“She loves you.”
“I know.”
“That scares me more than anything.”
Camille reached for his hand.
“I’m scared too.”
He looked down at their fingers.
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“What if it does?”
Malcolm almost laughed.
“Ava said the same thing.”
“Smart kid.”
“Terrifying kid.”
Camille squeezed his hand.
“I’m not asking for promises.”
“Just a chance.”
Malcolm looked toward the kitchen.
Ava was watching them.
The second she realized he noticed, she turned away far too quickly.
Malcolm smiled.
“Okay.”
Camille blinked.
“Okay?”
“We try.”
She smiled.
Then leaned forward.
Their first kiss was quiet.
Careful.
Nothing dramatic.
When they separated, Natalie called from the kitchen.
“Finally.”
Camille closed her eyes.
Ava shouted, “I told you.”
Malcolm laughed.
For the first time in years, he felt foolish and happy at the same time.
The following morning, Camille showed up with a notebook.
Malcolm stared.
“You made rules.”
“I like rules.”
“You own an art gallery.”
“That does not mean I enjoy chaos.”
She opened the notebook.
Business disagreements stay business.
No public affection during client meetings.
No using personal issues during negotiations.
Honesty when uncomfortable.
Then one line underlined twice.
Ava comes first. Always.
Malcolm stared at it.
Camille noticed.
“If this relationship ever hurts her, we stop.”
“You thought about that.”
“Of course.”
He reached across the table.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for basic decency.”
“It isn’t basic to everyone.”
Camille understood what he meant.
They dated carefully.
Then less carefully.
Ava loved every minute of it.
Natalie became an unofficial relationship supervisor who constantly told them they needed to leave the building and behave like normal adults.
Their first actual date happened at a small Italian restaurant in North Beach.
Malcolm was more nervous than Camille.
“You survived Whitlock,” she told him.
“That was easier.”
“Than dinner?”
“Much.”
Camille laughed.
They talked about childhood.
Work.
Fear.
Past relationships.
Then Camille asked about Danielle.
Malcolm told her the truth.
They married young.
Had Ava.
Danielle realized she wanted another life.
She moved.
Calls became less frequent.
Visits became rare.
Malcolm stopped expecting anything.
“Do you hate her?”
Camille asked.
“No.”
That surprised her.
“Why not?”
Malcolm thought.
“Hating her would keep her living in my head.”
Camille smiled faintly.
“I like that answer.”
“What about you?”
“No marriage.”
“Close?”
“Twice.”
Camille traced the edge of her wine glass.
“One man hated that my gallery mattered more to me than impressing his friends.”
“The other loved ambitious women until he realized ambitious women sometimes disagree.”
Malcolm smiled.
“Sounds inconvenient.”
“Apparently I am.”
“No.”
He reached across the table.
“You’re difficult.”
“Thank you.”
“But not inconvenient.”
Camille laughed.
Their relationship grew.
So did the businesses.
Ava and Malcolm moved into the renovated loft upstairs.
Camille kept her apartment nearby but spent more nights at the building.
Malcolm began taking commissions he would never have accepted before.
Camille expanded Northline’s artist roster.
Natalie became operations director.
For several months, life almost felt simple.
Then Malcolm received a phone call from Portland.
“Mr. Reed?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Rebecca Sloan.”
Malcolm frowned.
“I’m calling on behalf of Danielle Reed.”
His entire body tightened.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
Rebecca’s voice was calm.
“Danielle and I are partners.”
Malcolm said nothing.
“She would like to discuss Ava.”
That sentence changed the room.
Malcolm placed the chisel in his hand onto the workbench.
“What about Ava?”
“Danielle wants a more active role.”
“She had six years.”
“People change.”
“So I’m told.”
Rebecca continued.
“She is stable now.”
“Employed.”
“We have a home.”
“She believes Ava would benefit from extended time in Portland.”
Malcolm’s jaw tightened.
“What does extended mean?”
“Summer.”
“Holidays.”
“Possibly monthly visits.”
“No.”
“Mr. Reed—”
“No.”
Rebecca’s tone changed.
“If you refuse to discuss it, Danielle is prepared to petition the court for a modification of custody.”
Malcolm stared toward the gallery doorway.
“You’re threatening a custody case.”
“I’m informing you of the options.”
“They sound identical.”
The call ended five minutes later.
Malcolm stood in the studio staring at nothing.
Camille found him there.
The second she saw his face, she knew.
“What happened?”
“Danielle.”
“What about her?”
“She wants custody time.”
Camille went still.
“How much?”
“Summers.”
“Holidays.”
“Monthly visits.”
“And if I refuse, court.”
Camille crossed the room.
Malcolm shook his head.
“This is not your problem.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No.”
“We’re together.”
“That doesn’t make my custody case yours.”
Camille took both his hands.
“It makes you not alone.”
Malcolm looked at her.
“I cannot lose Ava.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”