Chapter 5
Fourteen years ago
Olive headed out of school and toward the beat-up old truck Noah and Katie’s grandpa had gifted them when they’d turned sixteen a few months ago. The twins were supposed to share the truck, but Katie had failed her driver’s test four times and refused to try again.
Both Noah and Katie were already in the truck. Olive slid onto the bench seat and inhaled deep because something smelled like . . . “French fries?”
She’d missed lunch, but this time it wasn’t her fault. Earlier, Cindy and her friends had shoved Katie in the hallway. She’d fallen hard to her knees, spilling her drink and sending her books and things sprawling far and wide. Olive had shoved Cindy back, but by then several teachers had come out, catching only Olive, who’d ended up in detention. “You guys didn’t have to wait for me.”
Katie handed over the French fries. “Supersized.”
Olive’s stomach rumbled, but she didn’t take them. “They’re pity fries, right?”
“No, they’re fury fries,”
Katie said, and glanced at her brother.
Olive looked at Noah too, which wasn’t a hardship. She would never admit to crushing on him, never ever, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t admire from afar. He was in his usual jeans and a T-shirt, ballcap on backward, his hair curling around the edges, looking better than she wanted to admit. But though he flashed her a small smile, it was far from his usual trouble-filled one. His body was practically vibrating with tension. No, wait. Anger.
“I took care of it,” he said.
A bad feeling came over her. “It?”
“He went to the principal and told her what really happened,”
Katie said.
Olive gaped at him. “What? No!”
“They can’t keep getting away with all the shit they’ve been pulling,”
he said quietly.
She stared down at the fries. “So these really are pity fries.”
“No,”
Noah said. “They’re thank-you fries. For having Katie’s back when I can’t.”
That made her chest ache. For Katie. For Noah being the kind of guy he was. For herself, because though she wanted to be a part of this family, what she wanted even more would never happen because Noah had friend-zoned her. Instead of crying, she stuffed more fries in her mouth, closing her eyes to fully appreciate the trans fats hitting her system.
“In science today we learned that eating foods like French fries might be linked to depression,”
Katie said.
Olive kept shoveling in the fries. “Maybe it’s just that when people have a crap day, they need French fries—which means it’s the cure for depression, not the cause. And who cares if they’re fattening.”
She sank a little against the seat and kept eating. “We can’t all have rockin’ abs.”
Since Noah was the only one in the truck with rockin’ abs, Katie gave a snort.
Noah just slid Olive a sideways glance.
Damn, her mouth had a big mouth. “I mean, not that I’ve noticed or anything.”
Katie snorted again.
“I haven’t!”
But if she’d been Pinocchio, her nose would’ve just grown long enough to shatter the windshield.
Present day
After Olive helped Katie handle Joey’s bedtime routine—bath, potty, stories, water, another trip to the potty, etc.—the two of them sat at the kitchen table eating a whole rack of cookies between them.
Like old times.
And just like old times, Katie doodled in a notebook because the repetitive motion of writing soothed her brain, which she’d once described as similar to having thirty TVs on in the same room, all on different channels, all at full blast.
Olive eyed the page Katie’s notebook was opened to. It was filled, and even though every line said the exact same thing, each had been written in a different font. Not a surprise, since for as long as Olive could remember, Katie’d had all the fonts memorized.
“ ‘The mountains are calling, and I must go,’ ”
Olive read, knowing it was Katie’s favorite line by John Muir. “What font is this one?”
She pointed to a line halfway down the page.
Katie, in the act of dipping a cookie into her mug of milk, glanced over. “Kefa. Are we going to play the name the font game?”
“Sure. Unless you want to tell me how you’re really holding up.”
Katie shrugged. “Physically, I’m here and fine. Mentally, I’m in a pool in Hawaii with Joe, ordering our third mojito.”
Joey appeared at their side in dinosaur pj’s, hair adorably tousled. “Cookies!”
Katie sighed but pulled Joey onto her lap. “One,” she said.
He studied the open package of cookies and very carefully made his choice, then he just as carefully dipped it into the milk before stuffing it into his mouth.
“You’re supposed to take bites, not shove the whole thing in,”
Katie said.
He grinned at her, his mouth rimmed in chocolate.
“This is an interesting font, what is it?”
Olive asked, pointing to another line in the notebook.
“Wingdings three,”
Joey said.
Olive smiled at him. “Like mommy, like son.”
“Okay,”
Katie said. “Kisses and then back to bed.”
Joey kissed his mom, then hopped like a bunny out of the room.
“Ribbit, ribbit!”
he yelled from the hallway.
Okay, not a bunny then, but a frog . . . “He’s pretty amazing.”
Katie smiled. “I know. And I made him. Well, okay, his dad helped.”
“How was Joe today?”
“The doctors say they expect him to start showing signs of waking up any day now. All his scans look better and the brain swelling has gone way down.”
She paused. “I’m scared, Olive. I love him too much. I’m trying to be strong for Joey, but it’s hard.”
“You’re the strongest person I know,”
Olive said softly, hurting for Katie. “But it’s okay not to be okay.”
“It’s just that I’m on sensory overload all the time, and because of what happened to Joe, everyone wants to hover over me, and I don’t know how to explain I don’t want anyone in my space bubble because I can hear the dog snoring, the freezer dropping ice, and there are clothes in the wrong places, dirty dishes in the sink, and I can feel my toes too much.”
“You don’t have to explain, because your family knows and gets you, and so do I.”
Katie looked at her. “You’re a part of this family, you idiot. So is your grandma. She’s so sweet. You know Noah’s been helping her out around the house, fixing whatever she needs fixing, sending her texts to remind her to check her blood sugar. Today, she dropped off a tray of lasagna for him. Don’t worry, I plan to make sure he shares with us.”
Olive had only heard one thing. “Why does she have to check her blood sugar?”
“To make sure her borderline diabetes stays borderline.”
Olive blinked, and Katie winced. “You didn’t know?”
Olive shook her head. “No, but it’s my fault. I call and check in, but she hates to worry me. The distance is hard.”
Katie was quiet a beat, the way she got when she was thinking about saying something very serious. “Your grandma once told me that sometimes you’ve got to hug someone even when you don’t want to, so you know how big to dig the hole.”
Olive snorted. “A second joke in a week? Look at you, making a funny to ease my mind. Does this mean you’ll hug me goodnight?”
“Only if you want to be buried after.”
It was too late to check in with Gram—the woman liked to go to sleep early. But later, when Olive finally climbed into bed, she dragged her laptop in with her and put in two hours to, one, research diabetes and, two, catch up on work.
When she finished, she realized her shoulders were at her ears, she was tense as hell, and . . . in a bad mood. Running her own PR firm was a dream come true, but if she was being honest, it wasn’t always what she’d thought it would be. Being the boss, being in charge of literally every single decision all day long every day, was hard, but she was good at hard.
The loneliness, not so much.
Now, being back in Sunrise Cove, she realized something even more unsettling—and humbling. Katie, the person she’d flown halfway across the planet to help, was less in need of help than Olive herself was.
And . . . Noah was “fornicating”
like it was his job?
Aha, now she was getting somewhere with her bad mood. But tired of thinking too hard, she closed her eyes, then jerked awake at the blaring of a foghorn that nearly put her into V-fib. Her cell phone.
It was morning.
Heart pounding in her ears, she reached out, accidentally knocking the phone to the floor, where it continued having its seizure. “Ugh.”
Leaning over the edge of the bed, she stretched to grab it and . . .
Fell.
Right next to a sleeping Holmes. He opened his bloodshot eyes and she kissed his snout. She could see a streak of dawn’s light peeking in through the slats of the shades on the window, and wished she was still sleeping. Her caller was Evan McAlister, a client whose company operated a handful of hockey arenas around the globe.
“Olive,”
he said with obvious relief when she finally answered. “I’ve left some messages. It’s so unlike you not to answer at any time day or night. You okay?”
Was she?
Honestly, she had no idea. And yes, she tended to spoil her clients by always being available, needing their repeat business. “I’m in the States. I sent out an email a few days ago to everyone that I’d be in a different time zone for a few weeks. I’m working as always, just different hours of the day than you’re used to.”
“Oh, right. I remember now. And . . . I woke you. I’m sorry. I just wanted to go over the campaign one more time.”
They were planning an auction with some high-profile athletes who would spend a day with the winning bidders, teaching them how to ice-skate. “Sure,” she said.
Holmes licked her hand and she cupped his adorably baggy, wrinkly face. She got a sweet little lick in return that melted her, making her wish she could get off the roller coaster long enough to rescue an animal in need . . . or start a family of her own. She realized having a baby was quite a leap from a dog, but the heart wanted what the heart wanted.
Only, seeing as what her heart wanted probably required actually going on a date, she wasn’t going to get there any time soon. With a sigh, she reached for her laptop, because even though she and Evan had been through their campaign a bunch of times already, some clients needed more hand-holding than others. “Hold on a sec . . .”
Where had she left her glasses? Maybe on the counter in the bathroom where she’d removed her makeup last night? Rising to her feet, she pulled the bathroom door open, strode in, and bounced off something hard.
Noah, wearing a towel and nothing else besides the sexy.
He had his toothbrush in his mouth, stubble that was at least two days past a five-o’clock shadow on his jaw, and . . . she lost every thought in her head. Along with her phone, which slipped out of her fingers and hit the floor, from which she could hear the tinny sound of Evan’s voice. “Olive? Olive, are you still there?”
Noah raised a brow at her, then scooped up the phone and held it out. When she took it, he headed back to his sink and dropped his towel.
She’d like to say she stared at his broad shoulders and back, but she wasn’t that noble. Plus, he had the best ass on the planet, though it was fairly quickly covered up as he pulled on a pair of running shorts. He also tugged a T-shirt over his head, finger-combed his hair, and stuck on a ballcap.
Must be nice to spend two seconds getting ready . . . “Gotta go,”
she told Evan, torn between throwing herself at Noah or running for the hills. Damn, her emotions were really giving her whiplash today. “Family emergency.”
“Family emergency,”
Noah repeated when she disconnected her call, leaning against the sink casual as you please. “Interesting choice of BS excuses since you took yourself out of this family years ago.”
Yes. Yes, she had, for reasons she could never, ever share with him. “Let me know when you’re done in here,”
she said with as much dignity as she could, which wasn’t much since, unlike him, she stood there in an oversized T-shirt, baggy sweat bottoms, and hair from hell. “I’ve got a video call in a bit and it takes a while to fix the whole hot mess thing I’ve got going on.”
That got her an almost smile. “You got the hot part right,”
he murmured, voice low and morning husky. “Unlike last night at the shit show we’ll call dinner,”
he said, “you actually look exactly how you used to.”
Since he didn’t seem happy about that, she let the annoyance in, since hopefully it would get her through being in such close quarters.
“Why are you working this early?”
he asked. “You hate mornings.”
She did hate mornings, but was surprised he even remembered that about her. She was also struck by the odd trick he had of making a person want to talk to him, to tell him stuff he wanted to know.
It was something in that open, direct golden-brown gaze of his. She had no doubt it made him uniquely successful at interrogating felons.
And women. Let’s not forget that, and unfortunately, she wasn’t nearly as immune as she wanted to be.
“The time zone necessitates mornings. But also, my parents missed our monthly call, and I’ve learned if I call them once their day gets going, they forget to answer their phone. I need to try them before my meeting and arrange a time to go to the farm and see them while I’m here.”
He looked surprised. “Do you do that often?”
“Rarely,”
she admitted. “We usually meet somewhere on their travels. I actually haven’t been back to the farm since I left it. I’m not even positive I could find it.”
And she was only halfway kidding.
He paused, something he didn’t do often, so she figured she wasn’t going to like what he said next.
“I could take you.”
She was right. She didn’t like it. His offer felt like pity, and they both knew she’d always been allergic to that particular emotion. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”
Noah laughed ruefully. “How many times have I heard that?”
Right. “Look, maybe we need to call some sort of a truce while I’m here. It’d help if you’d stop baiting me.”
“I’m baiting you?”
he asked incredulously.
“Aren’t you?”
He studied her a beat. “The only way a truce is going to happen is if we stay away from each other.”
“Exactly. So you stay on your half of the bathroom and I’ll stay on mine.”
He snorted. “How exactly is that going to work when it comes to the shower and the toilet?”
“It’s called knocking.”
“Which you didn’t do,”
he pointed out. “Two minutes earlier and you’d have caught me in the shower.”
Her gaze, independent of her brain, slid down his body and back up again.
He was smirking. “See something you like?”
“No!”
He smiled. “You used to have a crush on me.”
No use denying what everyone had known. “Past tense, trust me.”
His mouth curved in a half smile. “I had a crush on you too.”
That made her laugh. “Right.”
“I did.”
She stared at him and realized he was serious. “Okay, first of all, and not that I believe you, but nice job on pretending you didn’t. I certainly bought it.”
“And second?” he asked.
“And second . . . you had your chance with me and you passed.”
“You didn’t want me that night,”
he said. “Not really.”
“Oh, do tell.”
“You wanted an escape,”
he said. “Which doesn’t count.”
Hell if she was going to correct him. She’d already embarrassed herself enough. Gathering her dignity, or what was left of it anyway, she turned to go. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Olive.”
She glanced back, finding him watching her with a pensive gaze. “If you need an escape while you’re here, don’t come knocking. I’m still not your guy.”
“Don’t worry.”
He would be the very last guy on the planet she’d go to. For anything. “I’ve got a boyfriend.”
Fantasy boyfriend, but whatever.
“So where is he?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re here to support your longtime best friend and to see your grandma. Two very important people in your life. Why isn’t he here with you?”
“He’s busy.”
“Too busy to support his woman?”
She walked out rather than respond, because she had no good response. Then she called her client back. After, she tried her parents again. No answer. By this time, the bathroom was empty, so she claimed it as her own by locking both doors. See? How hard was that? She showered, dressed, and headed into the main part of the house to see about some desperately needed caffeine.
Then stopped short in the living room.
Noah was on the floor doing push-ups, with Joey on his back helping him count.
“One, two, three, four, five, thirteen, twenty!”
Joey yelled.
Noah laughed. “Thanks, Bud.”
Joey beamed.
Seriously? The man had to be cute on top of hot? Good thing he was also an asshole.