Chapter 18 Olivia
OLIVIA
He’s never called me before. This isn’t something we do. I’m nervous. I’m excited. I don’t know what to do with myself as I wait.
I sit on the couch by the window, antsy with that nervous energy I can’t seem to contain.
I can’t stop moving, shaking my leg, tapping my fingers on the cushions.
I decide to move because clearly the couch isn’t the best place to talk to him.
I get up and plop on the small yellow love seat pressed against the other wall.
It’s cute. Bright. The arm of the sofa digs into my back as I lean against it to get comfortable and I groan, annoyed because I can’t talk to him here either. I toss a few fluffy pillows on the floor, snatching the large gray throw blanket to wrap around myself to get cozy.
Checking the time, I gasp when I see his shift is almost over. He’s about to call me.
I can’t sit here either. Maybe it’s best if I get up and stand.
The decision is made for me when a knock thuds on the door. My phone begins to vibrate in my hand and Mr. Wrong Number flashes across the screen. The person at the door continues to knock, and for a second, I don’t know what to do.
On the third ring, I snap out of my stupor, pressing the green button to answer my phone. “Hey! Sorry. One second. Someone is at the door.”
“It’s so damn good to hear your voice. I can wait. No problem.” His deep, smooth tone is a balm against my soul, soothing every unsettled part of me that was nervous.
I swing the door open mid-knock and the guy is standing there, blue baseball cap flipped backward and his hand raised.
“Hi. I have a package for…uh…” His thick, bushy brows pull together. “Miss…Wrong Number?” he says, clearly confused.
Mr. Wrong Number chuckles on the other end of the line.
“That’s me.” I turn my head and talk into the phone. “Yeah, I bet you think that’s hilarious.”
“I’m sorry?” The courier holds the box out to me, a confused quirk in his right brow.
“Sorry.” I point to the phone, not trying to be rude.
“It is hilarious. I’m so glad I called right at this moment,” Mr. Wrong Number says.
“If you could just sign here so I can show the package was delivered…”
I scribble my name on the device, not knowing how my signature will show since half the time the pens don’t work, and I can’t see what I’m writing. Hopefully, it suffices.
“Thanks. Have a great day.” The courier hands me the package and without another word, he runs down the steps.
“You too,” I manage to mutter more to myself than to him. He’s gone before I can even mouth the words.
Nudging the door shut with my foot, I have the phone pressed between my ear and shoulder.
“Sorry about that. The package you sent me arrived. Do you want me to open it while I’m on the phone with you?
” I can’t help that my voice drops to a rasp because I know what’s inside this box and I can’t wait to take it out.
“No. You’re going to wait a bit.”
“Wait?” I pout.
I hate waiting.
“Be a good girl and wait.” His voice deepens so much, the baritone slithers through my body. It takes over my movements, and I place the box on the floor next to my bed.
“Fine, I’ll wait until you say I can open it.”
“Good. I’m glad. I like that, you know.”
“What?”
“That you listen when it comes to certain…things.” Somehow, his voice becomes impossibly lower, and I fall back onto the bed, the butterflies in my stomach swirling to look for a way out.
“I like listening when it comes to those…things,” I whisper in response, my body coming to life just at the thought of him gently ordering me.
“It’s good to hear your voice.” I don’t know where I’ve heard it before.
He feels familiar. He sounds familiar. Everything about him seems like I’ve met him before and I can’t place where.
Maybe he’s one of those souls. The kind that relates to mine so much, like we were destined to collide.
“It’s good to hear yours too, sweetheart.”
That’s when I can hear it, the exhaustion mingled with a hint of sadness.
“Are you okay? Is something wrong? How did work go today?”
He sighs so loud it causes the microphone to crackle. “It was okay. There’s a lot going on that I wasn’t expecting. I’m trying to work it out.”
I nibble on my bottom lip as a crazy, irresponsible thought crosses my mind.
“Do you…do you maybe want to come over? We can talk about it. I hate the thought of you being alone right now, knowing you’re sad.
Unless you have plans with someone else, then maybe tomorrow? ” I’m so tired of waiting to see him.
I know it was my idea to wait. But now that I know we’re both serious about this relationship, waiting doesn’t seem right anymore.
Every text, I wish he was next to me. The sound of his voice makes me wish I could crawl into his lap and bury my face into his neck, breathe him in, and let the vibrations of every word he speaks seep into me to lull me to sleep.
Silence falls on the other line and my face heats with rejection. I rush to add, “We don’t have to. We can wait. I didn’t mean to put that kind of pressure on you. You have enough—”
“I would love to. I want to. I want to see you so much, I know it’s the only thing that can save this day, save my mood. I need to see you, so fucking much it hurts.”
I sit up, my heart pounding in my chest. My hand presses against the thudding beat. I can’t believe he agreed. “Really? You’re serious?” I can’t hide my smile. My cheeks hurt. They always hurt when it comes to him. “You’ll come over tonight? I’ll get to see you.” I do my best not to squeal.
He chuckles. “Sweetheart, I want nothing more. But know this—I’m not leaving tonight. I’m staying.”
“Oh?” I pick up the pillows from the floor and toss them on the sofa where they belong, then fold the blanket and lay it across the cushion. “I don’t remember inviting you to sleep over,” I tease, my tone light and playful. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”
It’s a great idea.
“You have about ten minutes to wrap your mind around it, then. I’m on my way. You should have thought about that before you gave me your address for the package I sent. Granted, if I knew the courier was going to take all day, I would have just brought it myself.”
“You’re on your way! I’m not ready.” I fly into the bedroom and check myself in the mirror. I’m in a simple pair of light pink pajama bottoms and a white tank top. My red hair is messy, tossed into a bun on top of my head like always, and I have no makeup on.
“Don’t change a thing about yourself. I want to see how you typically are at home. I want to see you comfortable.”
“I…I don’t know. First impressions are everything, aren’t they? When people meet.”
“We’re past first impressions. I don’t care what you look like.”
“You say that, but—”
“But nothing. You have five minutes.”
I spray on a small amount of my perfume, light and airy with a hint of citrus, followed by a few swipes of vanilla lip balm.
“What if we see each other and the sparks aren’t there?” I whisper the worry that’s been eating at me in the back of my mind since this entire relationship started.
“Do you believe that? I don’t for a minute. I’ve never had a doubt you were meant to be more than a person I talk to on the phone. The sparks are there, sweetheart. Once they meet, I have a feeling we will combust.” A constant clicking sound echoes in the background. “I’m two minutes away.”
I light a warm sugar-scented candle in the living room and another in my bedroom. “I’m so excited. I’m nervous. Are you nervous?”
“Are you kidding? I’m afraid you’ll take one look at me and decide you’ve wasted your time.”
“Time can never be wasted when it comes to you,” I admit to him, stuffing my feet into my fuzzy slippers, then running out the front door, forgetting how cold the nights are now.
“I’m in the parking lot.”
The railing to the staircase is cold against my palm. My breath comes out in frozen puffs. The air around me is thin and almost hard to breathe. It stings when I inhale, my lungs unable to expand fully from the freeze.
“I’ve parked,” he announces.
On the phone and in real time, I hear a car door slam. My breath catches in my throat when I see someone step onto the sidewalk and begin to walk toward me.
“I see you,” he says.
“I see you too.” My legs have a mind of their own and begin to move to meet him in the middle.
I can hear his heavy steps, scuffs of his shoes against the concrete. My own slippers are softer, and when we’re close enough to one another, we stop about a foot apart. Both of us stunned to stillness.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
There’s no way. No. This can’t be possible.
I’d know him anywhere. His graying hair is slightly damp from a shower and slicked back, the natural waves falling effortlessly as if he meant to style it like that.
He hasn’t shaved in a few days, the stubble thick.
Even in the dark, his blue eyes glow. The illumination of the streetlamps falls against his high cheekbones, the shadows sculpting his face into a more statuesque appearance.
He’s beautiful.
His gaze eats me alive. This look is different than when I met him in the conference room. Then, he was curious, interested, and playful. But now? He’s hungry. His eyes move up and down, taking his time drinking me in.
The cold fades on my skin, replaced with searing heat and desire.
“Olivia,” he growls with a lick of his lips, finally hanging up the phone, and I do the same.
God, the way he says my name.
I fall forward, and he meets me, wrapping his arms around me to pick me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, marveling at how soft his hair his, how the silver glimmers in the moonlight.
“Elias,” I whisper, his name falling from my lips. I’m stunned, and in disbelief that it’s been him all along.
His hands are wide and strong, one sliding up my back to cup my neck while the other slips around my waist, holding me tight against him.