3. OLIVIA
CHAPTER 3
OLIVIA
Ethan leans back in his chair, his fingers wrapped around a coffee mug, and I swear he looks even better than the last time I saw him. The sunlight streaming through the window hits him just right, catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, and the way his dark hair falls across his forehead. It’s almost annoying how effortlessly handsome he is, especially when he’s sitting here, trying to convince me of something I already told him I wasn’t interested in.
“Liv, just hear me out,” he says, leaning forward, his eyes locked on mine. They’re blue—deeper than I remembered, like the sky right before it storms.
“I’ve heard you out,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “But it still sounds like a terrible idea.”
Ethan gives me that boyish grin of his, the one that used to make my heart skip a beat back in high school. Hell, who am I kidding? It still does .
“You haven’t heard the best part yet,” he insists, his tone teasing, like he knows exactly how to reel me in.
I roll my eyes, but it’s half-hearted. I’m trying to be skeptical, trying to hold on to my resolve, but it’s hard when he looks at me like that, like he’s daring me to disagree with him. I sip my coffee, trying to gather my thoughts, but all I can think about is how close he is, how easily I could reach across the table and?—
Stop it, Liv . You’re supposed to be arguing with him, not fantasizing.
But it’s too late. My mind starts wandering, and I can’t help it. I imagine what it would be like if I gave in to that grin, if I leaned forward and kissed him, right here in this cozy little corner of the cafe. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I picture his hands on me—strong and sure, pulling me closer until I’m pressed up against him. He’d taste like coffee and something darker, something uniquely Ethan.
I’m a grown woman, not some lovesick teenager, but Ethan has this way of getting under my skin without even trying. The tight black T-shirt he’s wearing clings to his chest, and I can see the outline of muscles beneath the fabric, his biceps flexing slightly as he takes another drink. It’s like he rolled out of bed, went for a run, and somehow managed to look like he stepped out of a fitness magazine.
“Olivia,” he says, tilting his head. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”
I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. “I am listening. I just… don’t believe you.”
He chuckles, setting his coffee down and leaning in closer, lowering his voice like he’s about to share a secret. “You don’t believe me because you’re still trying to figure out if I’m messing with you, or if I’m serious.”
“Maybe,” I admit, tapping my fingers against my cup, refusing to look away even though I can feel the heat creeping up my neck. He’s so close now that I can smell the faint hint of sweat mixed with his cologne—a clean, earthy scent.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think this was a good idea. You know me.”
And I do know him. That’s the problem. I know him well enough to know that when he wants something, he’s relentless. I try to focus on his words, but my mind drifts again, unbidden, to the way his shirt clings to his body, the slight sheen of sweat on his chest that I’m sure I could taste if I leaned in close enough. I picture it—running my hands up his stomach, feeling the hard ridges of his abs under my fingers, his skin warm and slick against my palms.
My face heats up, and I quickly look down at my coffee, hoping he doesn’t notice the flush spreading across my cheeks. This is insane. I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this, not after everything. But then he leans back in his chair, stretching slightly, and the movement pulls his shirt tighter across his chest, revealing just a hint of his toned stomach. My pulse quickens, and I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to take a steadying breath.
“You okay?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by the look on my face.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, too quickly. “I’m just… trying to figure out why you’re so insistent about this.”
His smile widens, and he leans in again, closer than before, his face only inches from mine. “Because I think you want to say yes, but you’re just looking for a reason not to.”
The way he says it, the low timbre of his voice, sends a shiver down my spine. He has no idea what kind of yes is on the tip of my tongue right now. I swallow hard, meeting his gaze and trying to play it cool, but the heat between us is undeniable, almost tangible.
“You’re too confident,” I say, my voice wavering slightly despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
“Confident?” He smirks, his eyes flicking down to my lips for a fraction of a second before meeting my gaze again. “Or just right?”
My breath catches, and for a moment, I forget why we’re even here, forget that we’re supposed to be having a serious conversation about whatever plan he’s concocted. All I can think about is the way his lips would feel against mine, how it would be to tug him closer, to feel his weight pressing against me, to finally give in to this ridiculous, lingering attraction I’ve had for longer than I care to admit.
I break eye contact first, looking out the window and taking a deep breath, trying to clear my head. “You always think you’re right.”
“Only when I am,” he quips, and I can hear the grin in his voice.
“Well,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, even though my thoughts are anything but, “maybe I’ll surprise you this time.”
His grin widens, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I hope you do, Liv. I’m counting on it.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips.
Ethan gets up first, tosses his napkin onto the table and grabs his phone. I follow, still trying to shake off the flush in my cheeks from our conversation. He’s grinning like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s both irritating and oddly charming.
“I’ve got it,” he says, pulling out his wallet before I even have a chance to dig for mine.
I raise an eyebrow, surprised. “You’re paying?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” He looks genuinely confused as he hands the waitress his card.
“It’s just... not something I’m used to anymore,” I admit as I catch up with him. “In Austin, everyone’s obsessed with splitting the bill. It’s all, ‘We’re equals, right? You get the oat milk latte, I get the kombucha, and we’ll Venmo the difference.’”
Ethan snorts. “You’re kidding. The day I make someone Venmo me for a coffee is the day I’ve truly lost my soul.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’ve clearly been away from city life for too long.”
“Austin sounds like a lot of fun.”
“It has its moments,” I admit as we head out the door. The small bell above it jingles as we step outside, the crisp air hitting my face, waking me up a bit.
The late afternoon sun casts a golden glow over the town. It’s still as charming as I remember—brick buildings with sun-faded signs, small businesses with hand-painted logos, and a quiet buzz that feels worlds apart from the chaos of Austin. There’s the little bookstore where I used to spend hours browsing romance novels, the park with its worn swingset that probably still has my initials carved into the bench, and the local bakery that, if I’m not mistaken, is still blasting that same old 80s playlist.
“It hasn’t changed much, has it?” I say, almost to myself.
Ethan glances at me, then back at the street. “Nope. Same old place. Though we’ve lost a few good spots. The arcade is gone—replaced by some weird holistic wellness shop.”
“So tell me more about the channel. Sounds like you guys started it on a whim, and it just took off?” I ask, glancing over at him.
He makes a face. “Took off might be an overstatement. I mean you’ve seen the views on the recent videos.”
I don’t want him to feel bad so I don’t reply.
We reach our building, and I swipe my keycard, holding the door open for him. “Maybe you just need to spice things up,” I say, stepping into the lobby. It’s quiet, with that familiar scent of lemon cleaner and carpet freshener. “And before you say it, no, I don’t mean me.”
“Only if you want to scare off the rest of your subscribers,” I shoot back, grinning as we step into the elevator.
As the doors close, I press the button for the fifth floor. “I can’t believe we’re going to be neighbors.”
“For a while, yes,” I say. I can’t stop myself from smiling before realizing what I’m doing.
The elevator dings, and we step out together. I’m about to say goodbye when a sharp, acrid smell hits my nose. It smells like… burning.
I wrinkle my nose, glancing around. “What is that smell? Is something on fire?”
Ethan’s eyes go wide, and his casual demeanor evaporates. “Oh, shit.”
Before I can ask what’s going on, he’s bolting down the hall, heading straight for a door that’s partially open. Smoke is curling out of the gap.
I jog after him, more curious than worried. “Ethan, what the hell did you do?”
He doesn’t answer, just flings open the door and rushes inside. I follow, because clearly, I have no sense of self-preservation.
The apartment is filled with a thin, gray haze inside. I spot a skillet on the stove, spitting smoke into the air. Ethan lunges for it, grabs a dishtowel, and wafts it wildly to clear the smoke.
“Goddamn it,” he mutters, frantically turning off the burner. “I forgot I put oil on to heat up.”
I burst out laughing. “You were making something before you went out for a run? Who does that?”
He turns, looking sheepish, a smudge of soot on his cheek. “Clearly, I do. And clearly, I’m an idiot.”
“Clearly,” I say, grinning as I wave the smoke away from my face. “Want me to call the fire department, or should I just handle this myself?”
Ethan shoots me a look, half embarrassed, half amused. “Hey, if you’ve got a fire extinguisher handy, be my guest.”
I glance around, noticing the haphazard state of his apartment—an acoustic guitar propped against the wall, a pile of recording equipment in the corner, and, of course, the smoke alarm now blaring above us.
Ethan leaps up to silence it, and I can’t help but laugh. He’s a complete mess, but it’s… kind of endearing.
“Welcome back to Cedar Hill,” he says, grinning down at me from where he’s perched on a chair, fanning the air. “It’s never boring here.”
Ethan hops down from the chair, waving away the last of the smoke with a sheepish grin. "So, I guess I’m not the master chef I imagined. But hey, at least I made an impression, right?"
"Yeah," I say, smirking. "I’ll definitely remember you as the guy who almost burned his apartment down over a pre-run snack. Very smooth."
He laughs, running a hand through his messy hair. There’s something disarming about him—this mix of charm and chaos that makes it hard to look away. And that old, familiar flutter of attraction stirs in my chest. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Here I am, a grown woman with a successful business, getting weak in the knees because of my college crush who can’t even cook without causing a minor disaster.
Ethan tosses the burnt skillet into the sink and turns back to me, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “You know, Liv, I’ve got an idea that might not involve setting anything else on fire.”
“Doubtful,” I tease, leaning against the kitchen counter.
He gives me a playful glare. “Alright, hear me out. I think you should meet the guys.”
“The guys?” I raise an eyebrow, not sure where he’s going with this.
“Well, you know Jax, and there’s this other guy Marcus. They’re my partners on the WeTube channel,” he explains, leaning back against the counter across from me. “You’d like them. Jax is an ex-hockey player with a tendency to act before thinking—kind of like me, but with more muscles and a lot more ego. And Marcus… well, he’s our voice of reason.”
“Wait a second—Jax Thompson? Heather’s brother?"
“Oh that’s right, you know Heather!” Ethan says, looking rather sheepish. “I completely blanked on that.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Who’s the other guy.”
“Used to be a practicing psychiatrist, now he’s in it for the social experiments and the psychology behind our content.”
“So let me see—a guitarist, a psychiatrist and an ex professional player. Sounds like a joke in the writing.”
He chuckles. “You’re funny.”
I feel myself almost preening like a peacock.
I tilt my head, considering. “So, why exactly do you want me to meet them?
Ethan grins. “No pranks, I promise. I just think there’s potential here. You’re in town for a while, you’re working on this dating game, and you clearly know a thing or two about what makes a good story. Plus,” he pauses, giving me an almost disarming half-smile, “you might have some fun with it. And I think you could help us out, too, creatively. We’ve been stuck, Liv. I could use your perspective.”
I study him for a moment, trying to gauge how serious he is. There’s something hopeful in his eyes like he really believes this could work. Or maybe he just wants me to say yes because it means spending more time together.
And if I’m being honest, that part doesn’t sound so bad to me, either.
“I still haven’t said yes to the show, you know? You should know that it’s definitely not my scene.”
“Yes, yes, no pressure,” he says. “Worst-case scenario, you get some great material for your game. And best-case? We save the channel, and I get to hang out with you for a bit longer.”
There it is—that easy grin, the one that probably got him out of trouble a thousand times before. And the way he’s looking at me now, it’s like he’s daring me to say no.
I bite my lip, mulling it over. On one hand, this is a terrible idea. I have a business to run, a game to launch, and a million other things to worry about. But on the other hand… this is Ethan. The guy I used to daydream about during boring lectures. The one who made me laugh when everything felt heavy and complicated.
“What the hell,” I say, shrugging. “I’ll meet them. But I’m not making any promises.”
Ethan’s face lights up with a grin, and for a second, I feel like I’m back in college, agreeing to one of his wild ideas without thinking it through.
“You won’t regret it, Liv,” he says, his voice filled with that unshakable confidence.
“I already do,” I joke, but there’s a smile on my face.