Ava's POV
Waking up before the sun sucked.
Like, genuinely, who chooses to do this?
But I did.
Because Sebastian Chen hadn't looked at me the same since I told him the truth.
He still hugged me. Still kissed my forehead. Still called me "brat" with that tired little smile of his.But his eyes?
They were quieter now.
Less fire. More caution.
And I hated it.
So I got up at six, tiptoed out of bed like a ninja in fluffy socks, and made his coffee exactly how he liked it: no sugar, splash of almond milk, and hotter than hell. Burnt my finger doing it. Totally worth it.
He was already at the dining table when I shuffled in, dark gray hoodie falling off one shoulder, hair a mess, socks mismatched.
He didn't look up. Just typed away on his laptop like a machine.
"Morning," I chirped.
Nothing.
I slid the mug in front of him. "Coffee. Hand-delivered. By your favorite daughter."
He finally looked up. Brows raised. "You're my only daughter."
"Still your favorite though," I said, plopping into the chair beside him.
He gave a quiet laugh—barely there, but it counted. I grinned.
"Did you eat?" I asked quickly. "Want toast? A smoothie? I saw this TikTok recipe where you put—"
He gave me the look.
I zipped it.
He took a sip, then finally—finally—closed the laptop.
"I'm still mad, Ava."
I nodded. "I know."
"I don't trust you yet."
"I know that too."
He narrowed his eyes. "And yet you're sitting here like a golden retriever waiting for a pat on the head."
"I am literally a golden retriever. Loyal, fluffy, a little dumb, and completely obsessed with you."
He huffed another laugh. Progress.
"Also," I added, leaning forward dramatically, "I cleaned the garage yesterday. Sorted the tools. Organized your spare car keys. Even polished the bike."
His gaze sharpened. "You touched my Ducati?"
"With reverence and love."
He stared.
I grinned wider.
"Seb," I said quietly. "I'm really, really sorry. And I know you don't trust me. But I'm gonna earn it back. Slowly. Every day. Okay?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then: "You don't have to do all this."
"I want to. Because you matter. And I miss being your firecracker."
That got him.
His jaw unclenched, and his hand reached across the table—rough, warm, strong—and held mine.
"You're still my firecracker," he said softly. "Just… one with very poor decision-making skills."
I teared up. Again. God, I was pathetic.
But I didn't care. Because when Seb smiled at me, really smiled, the sun could go cry in a corner.