There is a specific, unique kind of humiliation in being a thirty-one-year-old corporate professional standing in a strip mall lobby, listening to a nineteen-year-old named Kevin explain the rules of a 1920s Bank Heist.
“Remember, guys,” Kevin droned, his voice cracking slightly as he adjusted a clip-on suspender. He looked like he vaped exclusively blue raspberry air and had never seen a bank in his life. “No cell phones. No brute force. If a drawer doesn’t open, don’t rip it off the hinges. Looking at you, big guy.”
Kevin pointed a laser pointer at Marcus Kline, who grunted and crossed his arms over his quarter-zip sweater.
Ava stood near the back of the group, clutching a complimentary bottle of lukewarm water like a lifeline. She was wearing a perfectly tailored emerald-green blazer, which felt entirely inappropriate for an establishment that smelled strongly of stale popcorn and desperation.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Ava muttered to Sarah, who was practically vibrating with excitement. “I have a fifty-million-dollar pitch deck to outline, and instead, I am about to spend an hour looking for a fake diamond in a room made of painted plywood.”
“Team synergy, Ava,” Sarah whispered back, her eyes gleaming with malicious joy. “Besides, look at the bright side. You get to spend sixty uninterrupted minutes in a locked room with the Ghost of Boyfriends Past.”
Ava shot a glare across the lobby. Ethan was standing near the vending machines, listening to Tyler the Intern explain a highly convoluted theory about cryptocurrency. Ethan was nodding politely, but his eyes kept flicking over to Ava. Every time they made eye contact, Ava felt a jolt of electricity shoot straight down her spine, which she aggressively tried to ignore.
“I hate you,” Ava told Sarah. “I hate you, and I am going to make sure your next performance review includes the phrase ‘actively sabotages leadership.’”
“You love me,” Sarah chirped.
“Alright, team,” Kevin announced, clapping his hands. “We’re splitting you into two groups. Group A will start in the Teller’s Lobby. Group B will start in the Bank Manager’s Office. You have to solve your respective puzzles to unlock the adjoining door and reunite before the ‘cops’ arrive. Group A is Marcus, Sarah, Tyler, and Lena.”
Ava let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Thank God.
She was in Group B, which meant-
“Group B is Ava and Ethan,” Kevin finished, consulting his clipboard. “You two are the inside men. Follow me.”
Ava froze. She turned slowly to Sarah, whose face was a mask of pure, unadulterated innocence.
“You did this,” Ava hissed. “You bribed Kevin.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sarah said, adjusting her collar. “I just think it’s important for the co-leads of the Bean & Leaf campaign to establish a strong foundation of trust. Have fun in the closet, boss!”
Before Ava could formulate a threat involving human resources, Kevin was ushering her and Ethan down a dark, narrow hallway lined with cheap velvet wallpaper.
“In here,” Kevin said, opening a door that looked like it belonged on a submarine. “Your time starts when the door closes. Good luck, mobsters.”
Ava stepped inside. Ethan followed. The heavy door slammed shut behind them, the lock engaging with a loud, definitive clack.
Ava blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the dim, sepia-toned lighting. The “Bank Manager’s Office” was, generously, the size of a walk-in closet. It contained a small wooden desk, a rotary phone, a locked filing cabinet, and absolutely zero personal space.
Ethan took one step forward and his shoulder brushed against hers. The room was so small that she could feel the heat radiating off him. She could smell the sandalwood cologne again, mixed with the faint, clean scent of his laundry detergent. It was intoxicating, and it made her want to punch a hole in the drywall.
“Well,” Ethan said, his voice a low rumble in the confined space. “This is cozy.”
“Don’t,” Ava warned, stepping sideways until her hip hit the edge of the desk. “Don’t make jokes. Let’s just find the stupid key, open the door, and get away from each other.”
Ethan held his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Professional collaboration. Got it. Where do we start?”
Ava scanned the room, her strategic brain kicking into gear. “It’s an escape room. Everything is a clue. Check the pockets of that coat on the rack. I’ll check the desk drawers.”
They fell into a frantic, silent rhythm. Ava yanked open the desk drawers, finding nothing but blank paper and a single, unsharpened pencil. Ethan patted down the trench coat hanging in the corner, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper.
“Got something,” he said, unfolding it. “It’s a receipt. ‘Three pounds of flour, two dozen eggs, one bottle of gin.’ The numbers are circled. Three, two, one.”
“Try it on the padlock on the filing cabinet,” Ava ordered, moving to inspect the rotary phone.
Ethan crouched down by the cabinet, his broad shoulders taking up an offensive amount of space. He spun the dial on the padlock. Click. The lock popped open.
“You’re welcome,” he said, shooting her a smug, devastatingly charming grin over his shoulder.
“Don’t get cocky, Hayes. It was a three-digit lock designed for tourists,” Ava shot back, though she couldn’t entirely suppress the tiny flutter in her stomach. She hated how easily they slipped back into this dynamic. The effortless banter, the competitive edge. It was like muscle memory.
Ethan pulled open the filing cabinet drawer. “There’s a lockbox in here. Needs a four-letter word.”
Ava abandoned the phone and knelt beside him. It was a mistake. Being on the floor next to him meant their knees were practically touching. She could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the exact shade of hazel in his eyes.
“Four letters,” Ava muttered, staring at the brass lockbox. “Bank.
Cash. Vault. Safe.”
Ethan tried them all. Nothing.
“Look around,” Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave. “What else is in the room?”
“Just us, a desk, and a terrifying portrait of a man who looks like he died of consumption,” Ava said, gesturing to a painting on the wall.
Ethan stood up, moving closer to the painting. He was so tall he had to duck slightly to avoid the low-hanging pendant light. “There’s an inscription on the frame. ‘To my dearest wife, my only…’” He squinted. “The last word is scratched out.”
“Wife,” Ava said, her brain working rapidly. “Love. Dear. Soul.” Ethan tried the words on the lockbox. Click. It opened.
“You’re good at this,” Ethan noted, pulling a small, brass key from the box.
“I’m a strategist, Ethan. My entire job is looking at a mess of information and finding the narrative.” She stood up, brushing dust off her knees. “Now give me the key so we can get out of this closet.”
Ethan didn’t hand it over. Instead, he leaned against the filing cabinet, twirling the key around his index finger. He looked at her, his expression shifting from playful to something much heavier, much more dangerous.
“You’re claustrophobic,” he said quietly. Ava stiffened. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are. You hate small spaces. You always insisted on taking the stairs instead of the elevator in my old apartment building, even though I lived on the sixth floor.”
“That was for cardio,” Ava lied smoothly.
Ethan tilted his head, his eyes tracking her movements. “You just tucked your hair behind your left ear. Twice. Rapidly.”
Ava froze, her hand hovering near her ear.
“It’s your tell,” Ethan said, his voice softening. “Whenever you’re lying, or whenever you’re trying to hide that you’re anxious, you tuck your hair behind your left ear. Two quick taps.”
The air in the room suddenly felt impossibly thin. Ava stared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. He remembered. After six years, after a cross-country move, after breaking her heart into a thousand jagged pieces, he still remembered the microscopic details of her anxiety.
“Give me the key, Ethan,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
He took a step toward her. The room was so small there was nowhere for her to retreat. Her back hit the edge of the desk.
“Ava,” he murmured, stopping just inches away from her. He was close enough that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest. “I didn’t know you were still at Summit. I swear to God. If I had known…”
“If you had known, what?” she challenged, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. “You would have turned down the Bean & Leaf account? You would have walked away from the money?”
“I would have prepared myself,” he said honestly, his eyes searching hers. “I would have prepared myself for how much it was going to hurt to see you again.”
The vulnerability in his voice was a physical blow. Ava opened her mouth to reply, to say something sharp and defensive, but the words died in her throat. He was looking at her not like a puzzle to be solved, but like the only thing in the room that made sense.
Suddenly, a loud, blaring siren echoed through the room, and the sepia lights cut out completely.
Ava gasped, instinctively reaching out in the pitch black. Her hands collided with Ethan’s chest. He immediately caught her wrists, his grip firm and warm, steadying her.
Red emergency lights began to pulse in the corners of the ceiling, casting the tiny room in a frantic, cinematic glow.
“It’s part of the game,” Ethan said, his voice a low, reassuring rumble right next to her ear. “Security breach effect. We’re okay.”
But they weren’t okay. Because in the dark, with the red lights pulsing and the siren wailing, Ava’s hands were still pressed flat against Ethan’s chest. She could feel the rapid, heavy thud of his heartbeat beneath the cotton of his shirt. It was beating just as fast as hers.
He didn’t let go of her wrists. Instead, he slowly slid his hands up her arms, his thumbs tracing the inside of her elbows. The touch sent a shockwave of heat straight to her core.
“Ethan,” she breathed, a warning that sounded entirely too much like an invitation.
He leaned in, his face so close to hers that his breath ghosted across her cheek. “Tell me to step back, Ava. Tell me to step back, and I will.”
She couldn’t. The words wouldn’t form. Six years of anger and resentment were currently losing a very fast, very violent war against six years of suppressed longing. She tilted her face up, her eyes fluttering shut, the space between their lips narrowing to a fraction of an inch.
BANG.
The adjoining door flew open, hitting the wall with a deafening crash. The main overhead lights snapped back on, blindingly bright.
Ava and Ethan sprang apart like two opposing magnets, both of them breathing heavily, their eyes wide and panicked.
Tyler the Intern stood in the doorway, holding a plastic stick of dynamite above his head like a trophy. He was grinning from ear to ear.
“I found the explosives!” Tyler yelled triumphantly. “I blew the lock! Group A rules!”
Sarah popped her head in behind Tyler, her eyes darting between Ava’s flushed face and Ethan’s white-knuckled grip on the edge of the filing cabinet. A slow, wicked smile spread across Sarah’s face.
“Well, well, well,” Sarah purred. “Looks like we interrupted something. Did you guys find the key, or were you just looking for it really, really closely?”
“We found it,” Ava snapped, her voice an octave higher than normal. She snatched the brass key from Ethan’s hand, her fingers brushing his palm, sending another unwanted jolt of electricity up her arm. “Let’s just finish this stupid game.”
She pushed past Tyler and Sarah, marching into the Teller’s Lobby without looking back.
Behind her, she heard Ethan let out a long, ragged exhale.
They had fifty-nine minutes left in the escape room, and six months left on the contract. Ava stared at the plastic dynamite in Tyler’s hand and realized with absolute, terrifying certainty that the real explosion hadn’t even happened yet.