Chapter 7 Olivia
I take one last look at my reflection in the mirror.
My hair actually cooperates tonight—soft waves falling over my shoulders, still warm from the blow dryer.
I tug at the hem of my cream-colored sweater, the one that feels like being wrapped in a cloud.
I paired it with my smooth and soft flannel leggings patterned with a faint gray plaid.
Casual. Comfortable. The kind of outfit made for lounging around the house.
But it’s still kind of pretty. Pretty enough that maybe Blade will notice I took a little time to look nice.
Acid rolls in my stomach as nerves threaten to take me under.
Blade could have anyone he wants—women who don’t fill with stress at the drop of a hat, the kind of woman who glides through life instead of stumbling through it.
Blade looks like he was carved by someone who knew exactly how dangerous beauty could be.
A Greek god in jeans and a leather jacket.
And I’m just me—attached to a crap-ton of baggage.
I sigh and push my thoughts aside. I need to concentrate on Dad.
He’s what is most important. When I walk into the living room, he’s already in his lift chair facing the TV.
His hair’s more silver than gray these days, and his face—lined but still strong—softens when he looks at me.
The lamp beside him throws golden light across his legs.
I grab a throw from the couch, shaking it out.
“Here,” I say softly, draping it over his knees. “You look like you’re chilling.”
He chuckles, a raspy sound but warm. “I’m always cold. Those blood thinners will do that, sweetheart. That and my old body being ornery.”
I tuck the edges in around his legs, careful not to jostle him too much, then grab the book resting on the side table. “You want this?”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “You always know.”
I hand it to him with a smile, then ask, “Need anything else?”
“I’m fine, sweetheart. Sit down for a bit, you’ve been working nonstop all day.” His eyes twinkle. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you were baking, too. What’d you make?”
My cheeks heat immediately. “Just … cookies.”
“Cookies, huh?”
I fold my arms, pretending to turn my attention to the television. “Peanut butter ones with a touch of chocolate.”
His eyebrows lift. “You made those for your young suitor, didn’t you?”
I open my mouth to deny it, but the truth is right there in the blush crawling up my neck.
I made a double batch of my homemade peanut butter cookies.
They’re full of peanut butter goodness—soft and chewy—with a melted Hershey’s Kiss in the center.
Blade said peanut butter was his favorite, and now I’ve baked enough to feed an army so I could send him home with some.
I’m an idiot.
What if he thinks I’m clingy? Or worse, what if he starts thinking I want something from him? Because if he gets too close, if he becomes part of my life … No. I can’t go there. Not tonight.
I plaster on a smile. “Are you sure you don’t mind if Mr. Aetos comes by?”
Dad laughs, a deep, genuine sound that makes me smile despite myself. “Mind? I want to see the young man who has my Livy a nervous wreck.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he says, letting me know that I’m not fooling him at all. I roll my eyes just as the doorbell rings. Dad just grins. “Go open the door. Sounds like your young man’s here.”
“He’s not my young man. He’s just a friend—a work colleague.”
“Mmhmm.” The doorbell rings again and Dad says, “My legs don’t work like they used to. I can get it, but it’ll take me a while and probably hurt like hell. Your call.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” I mutter, smoothing my hair as I hurry to the door. I take a deep breath, count to three, and open it.
My mouth drops open. Blade stands on the front porch, with two giant takeout bags hanging from one hand, and in the other—oh God—a bouquet so massive it looks like a fall festival exploded.
Sunflowers and daisies in shades of gold, orange, red and ivory, with a tiny pumpkin tucked in the middle and a burlap bow tied perfectly around the vase.
“Hey, Livy.” I just … stare. He tilts his head, smiling that slow, dangerous smile.
“Livy?” When I still can’t manage to speak, his smile goes lethal.
I can feel my panties getting wet. “Usdi, I’m not complaining, because watching you look at me like that is pretty much the best thing that’s ever happened to me—but the food’s getting heavy, and if we wait too much longer, it’ll grow cold. ”
“Oh!” I snap out of it, heat flooding my face. “Sorry! I’m so sorry,” I mumble, opening the door wider. “Come in.”
He steps past me, all quiet confidence and warmth. I reach for a bag. “Let me take something—”
“How about these?” he says, holding the flowers out. “They’re for you anyway.”
I blink. “You shouldn’t have, Blade, but … they’re gorgeous.”
“I started to go with roses,” he says, his eyes softening, “but these made me think of you more.”
“Why’s that?”
“Roses are beautiful,” he says, “but they’re solitary.
Cold and a touch calculating—like they know they’re pretty.
Sunflowers and daisies—they’re warm, bright, and they make the whole room happy and full of color by being in it.
Just like you.” My throat tightens. His words affect me more than I can handle. For a second, I think I might cry.
“That’s a good description of my Livy,” Dad calls from the living room. “Come on in, young man!”
Blade grins and sets the takeout bags on the breakfast bar that separates the kitchen from the living room. He leans down and presses a quick kiss to my forehead. “I’ll help you with the food in a sec, just want to say hi to your dad first.”
I stand completely still, like my legs have forgotten how to work while he and Dad start talking, already laughing about the basketball game on the television.
I place the flowers on the bar and focus on arranging them, needing the distraction.
When I glance up again, Blade’s still smiling, easy and completely comfortable.
Somehow, that makes my chest ache in the best way.
I grab the food bags, pretending to study the containers. One’s from The Rice Wagon—Dad’s favorite—though it’s usually too pricey for me. The other’s from Brio Grille, the fancy Italian place I only visit when I’m celebrating something big.
“Blade? Were you planning on feeding fifty people?” I call out.
He laughs. “Nope. Just you, me, and your dad. Figured leftovers means you don’t have to cook tomorrow.”
My heart flip-flops so hard I swear I feel it in my throat. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And thoughtful,” he adds with a wink. “Usdi, there’s enough of everything. We can just fill plates with what we like—except for you.”
“Except for me?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I asked Ayita what your favorite meal out was. She let it slip you’re in love with Brio’s lobster and shrimp fettuccine. So that’s yours.”
I stare at him. “Blade …”
He grins, turning to my father. “What’ll you have to drink, Mr. Davis? I’ll get it while Livy fixes your plate.”
“I saw that Rice Wagon bag,” Dad says, pressing the button to lift his chair. “This old dog can still get around. Livy made it easy for me, put the bar at the perfect height. I can roll my chair right up to it.”
I can’t help but smile. I’d saved and saved to knock that wall out and add the breakfast bar so he could pull up in his chair and eat comfortably. Seeing him proud of it makes every penny worth it.
I set out plates and utensils, and soon we’re all seated—me on the kitchen side, the two of them opposite of me.
Dad’s bragging about the food and convincing Blade to try the pork skewers, and Blade’s playing along, laughing, his deep voice blending perfectly with Dad’s lighter one.
Then Dad jokes, “That’ll put some hair on your chest, son,” and Blade bursts out laughing.
When his eyes lift to mine, he catches me smiling. He winks. I sigh softly, warmth spreading through me. I’m in trouble. But tonight, I don’t care. For just a little while, I want to pretend I’m a woman who can have a man like Blade in her life—without fear, without consequences.
Just for a little while.