Chapter 13
Olivia
I can still feel him. I’ll never forget what just happened … his touch, his breath, the way he loved on me like I was the only thing ever in his world. He wasn’t pretending. Not for a second.
I told myself this arrangement was business, a means to an end. But nothing about what happened between us felt arranged. It felt inevitable.
The faint scent of coffee drifts through the apartment, and I hear the quiet scrape of a chair.
When I look up, James is sitting at the small kitchen table, still half-dressed—dark jeans, black shirt undone just enough to hint at the skin I’ve already memorized.
His hair’s a little mussed, his jaw shadowed.
He looks like a mistake I’m willing to keep repeating.
He glances up, catches me watching. One corner of his mouth lifts. “You keep staring ...”
“Trying to decide if this is real or just a very vivid dream.”
He leans back in the chair, all lazy confidence. “Want me to prove it wasn’t?”
I toss him a look that should be a warning, but my smile gives me away. “You’re awfully sure of yourself for someone who’s new in the big apple.”
“My confidence comes from reliable test data,” he says, tapping the mug. “So far, all results are positive.”
The heat in my cheeks is immediate and mortifying. I hide behind my own cup, searching for the sharp, cynical retort that would usually save me. “We’ll see if you’re still this cocky at the ranch.”
He grins, all white teeth and mischief. “Only if you’re there with me. Being with you, Olivia, makes me this cocky and it feels like a very natural state.”
For a few moments, we just sit there in a kind of silence you don’t want to break because it feels like it belongs to you both.
He reaches across the table, hooks his finger under mine — the one with the rings. “Guess these mean a little more now,” he murmurs.
I look down at our fingers. “Yeah,” I whisper. “They do.”
I glance at the clock on the microwave. It’s later than I thought. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”
He smiles faintly. “So I hear.”
“My parents’ dinner. We’ll have to figure out what to wear. As you experienced, my mother has a way of turning polite questions into emotional combat. My sister, Caroline, isn’t far behind her.”
He grins. “Sounds like a rodeo. I’ll manage.” Then his voice drops lower. “You really think I care about impressing them?”
I blink. “You don’t?”
He looks straight at me. “Only you.”
This man is so sweet. It’s not the words. It’s how he says them. Like he’s already decided I’m worth the effort, even if this was never supposed to be real.
I look away first, because I have to. “James…”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know what this is,” I say quietly.
“But it feels …”
“Right?” he finishes for me.
I nod.
He takes the mug from my hand, sets it on the counter, and leans down just enough to brush a kiss against my temple. He holds me in his strong arms and we just stand there for a few moments. Finally, I break the spell.
“We should get a few gifts for tomorrow night. I know my mom said no gifts, but I also know what she’ll think if we show up empty-handed.”
“We can do that, but let me ask you something. Why are you so worried about what your mom thinks?”
“I don’t know, really. My therapist I used to go to called me the scapegoat in the family. That makes me try to anticipate what could happen and avoid it.”
“Makes sense. But, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you simply take them a gift because you want to and not worry about their reactions?”
“You’re right … you are so right.”
He smiles. “Okay, then that’s settled. I’ll go shopping with you. Lead the way, Mrs. Callahan.”
Something about hearing it — the way it rolls off his tongue — sends a strange flutter through me. It’s supposed to be a name for convenience, but in this little apartment, with his hand at my back, it feels dangerously close to the truth.
We crossed every line there was to cross and somehow, the world didn’t end. It just got brighter.