Chapter 19Olivia
Olivia
The wheels rumble to a stop on the patchy ground, cedar from the surrounding trees knitting through the air. When I remove the helmet to hand over to Cade, I brush my fingers through the soft curls of my high ponytail.
My eyes connect with the desolate mound of land, treetop silhouettes lining the guardrail of the overlook. I swing my leg over the back of the bike, greeted with a large spreading tree to the right.
A grin rises from my lips, fingers tugging the hem of my miniskirt as I march over to the guardrail. A tiny, yellow globe rotates in the distance against the dusk, and I assume we’re not too far from the coast.
My chin slopes toward the dusted sky. Even if I wanted to trace all the clusters of stars, there’s too many to keep track of. At least in this region.
A starlit umbrella just for us.
“How long have you been riding?” I ask, unmoving.
“Since I was twenty. Nine years.”
“Why not a car?”
“I like the speed. The freedom of the open road,” he answers.
“It’s dangerous,” I state.
“Danger doesn’t scare me easily.”
I peer over my shoulder, catching him propping his forearm on a handlebar. His solid gray flannel peeks from his open leather coat above dark denim, one black boot crossed in front of the other. The look grungy and refined at the same time, especially with the Suddora bandana he’s still rocking.
Ugh.
But my eyes hood when a small, orange bulb illuminates from his lips.
“Clearly,” I deadpan. “You’re willing to get cancer.”
He blows out a line of smoke to his side, the thick cloud dissolving instantly into the midnight. “I don’t smoke often at all, actually. Plus, I thought I’d toss any temptation off the table.”
It’s appalling.
So appalling.
But damn, does he look good cloaked in midnight.
I arch a brow, strolling toward him. “Good call. It’s disgusting.”
Notes of tobacco merge with his woody scent, Cade’s eyes pinning me over the cylindrical paper as he takes another drag.
The metal wings around his middle finger pair with the sight, and my displeasure kicks my hand into motion. My lips purse, fingers tearing the cigarette from him before putting it out underneath my boot. “Where’s the pack?” I demand.
Cade shoots a smirk as he scrubs a hand through his hair. “I just told you I don’t smoke often.”
“Oh, you’re lying,” I scoff. “I saw you last weekend smoking in the parking lot outside your brewery. Don’t insult me.”
He lightly chuckles when he peels himself from the bike. “What? Now you’re just openly admitting you’re stalking me?”
My throat quivers as he invades my space, but my shoulder pops nonchalantly. “I happened to see you when I was waiting for my friend by the bathroom.”
“And today’s coffee run-in?” he retorts.
I open my mouth, peering at him through slitted eyes, but I click my teeth shut in the next breath.
“Okay. Maybe I went to The Grind because I was hoping to see you, but I had no idea you were definitely going to be there.” His eyes flash with a pang of pleasure, spurring me on.
“I would’ve made out well either way. Their coffee is amazing. ”
His hands burrow in his jeans pockets as he rocks back on his heels. “How old are you, Olivia?”
“Twenty-six,” I say before flipping my palm up. “I want the pack of cigarettes.”
“I was having a bad night last Saturday,” he explains. “That’s the only reason you saw me with a cigarette.”
I nudge my palm forward. “I don’t care. Give me the pack.”
His chest bounces through a tickled grin. “What makes this so important to you?”
“I don’t want to see you harm yourself.”
“I could be a terrible person,” he quips, leaning in, “so what would it matter?”
“You aren’t ,” I grit out, my eyes practically tugging on those crystal blues.
He halts his next words, wiping a palm down his stubbled chin before he walks around me. “Who are you looking for?”
I spin in place, only to be met with his backside by the guardrail. “What are you talking about?”
His head peeks over his shoulder to respond, but his eyes never reach mine. “When we bumped into each other at The Grind— literally —I saw your Post-it.”
Words trap in my lungs, a shallow breath replacing them. My stomach ties into an aching knot, the only relief for it standing a few feet away from me.
Not just him.
His feelings.
I gulp past a tight lump, my eyes casting downward as my hands fiddle with each other. “Do you believe people cross paths for a reason?” I ask.
“I used to not believe so.”
My head perks up. “But now you do?”
His answer doesn’t grace my ears as quick as I want it to. The knot in my belly ravels tighter and tighter, the gentle bustling of the tree branches reminding me of the excruciating quiet.
Say something.
“Yeah, I do.”
He believes in us.
Relief pours from me, the breath almost too long that I nearly miss Cade walking in my direction. “You never explained the mace,” he states, worry fueling his tone. “Or the fact that you wanted to be walked to your car.”
I swallow roughly as I peer up at him. “Someone tried to hurt me once.”
His chest puffs with an inhale, eyes trained on me with an intensity that splits through the darkness. “I’m happy you said tried .”
I nod, my gaze glued to the very man who allowed me to utter that sentence. Without him, there would be no “tried.”
Or no conversation at all.
“Me too,” I whisper weakly.
My eyes begin to swell, tears settling in the corner pockets. But when the first pelt of a rain droplet lands on my head, another crashes onto Cade’s leather coat.
And suddenly, we’re caught in a shower.
Cade seizes my hand, our slick palms cradling together as he jogs us to the spreading tree. Our laughs mingle with the pitter-patter, clothes rinsed generously until we’re taking shelter under the wide canopy.
His large arm snakes around me as his back leans against the bark, forcing my chest to mold to his side like another tattoo. My palm mindlessly rests on the damp fabric over his tight stomach, and I gasp when I swerve my gaze to his stranded Harley. “Is your motorcycle going to be okay?”
A playful vibration spreads under my fingers. “Yes. Motorcycles are designed to get wet.”
I grin through my own laughter, mildly kneading the steel ripples of his abdomen with my fingertips.
It’s not a carnal or sexual mission.
I just need to touch him.
Tiny flames kindle along my skin, the only buffer being my soaked bangs pasted to my temples. His free palm sheathes the top of mine, tenderly trapping it against his upper abs. But the gesture is dominant at the same time. Just like a hero. Everything wrapped in one.
A hand that yanked me out of the darkness at one time.
A hand that feels like home .
My safe haven.
“What are your dreams, Olivia?”
My attention lifts to him, his damp tendrils scattered over his bandana above icy-blue eyes. Eyes I want to swim deeper in with every new detail I learn about the man who wears them.
The rustling of the rain floods my ears, the melodic noise steadying my heart to deliver an answer. “I want to write a book,” I begin. “Go to Australia. Learn ballroom dancing.”
His Adam’s apple rolls, his rough palm snuggling my hand tighter. “You can do all of that, Olivia,” he whispers. “Don’t let your second chance at life go to waste.”
Cade
I imagine her mint eyes belong to the woman I saved all those months ago. Because this is what I would say if I ever got the chance to meet her.
If only.
My gaze drags to my motorcycle in the near distance, and the white feather sways through the current of the shower.
Holding Olivia in my arms now, I’m convinced this nameless angel brought me the most fascinating person to ever grace my existence.
Not just because she’s physically stunning, but because Olivia seizes chances.
Moments. She’s confident and playful all at the same time. Strong .
Before my relationship with Jenna, I wasn’t a stranger to women flocking to me.
But there’s this infatuation etched into Olivia’s stare every time I’m around her.
Her appreciation is dug up from a place much deeper than the others.
And as much as I try to make sense of all this—our serendipitous relationship—I can’t.
There’s something more to uncover here. Like I’m being led down a tangled road that might be exhausting, but I know I’ll find the answer at the end.
I want that answer.
“What are your dreams?” she whispers.
My hand flinches, those adorable curtain bangs begging me to brush them out of her face. Wet, champagne strands are slightly frayed from the mild chaos, and I couldn’t forgive myself if I allowed them to prod her perfect eyes.
Talk about being a real asshole.
But I can’t.
She isn’t mine.
Is Jenna, though?
“To own a business,” I tease casually, only for Olivia to smile.
Her soft laugh breaks the chain around my wrist, and I peel my hand off hers to ghost her silky cheek. A slight brush that satiates my curiosity without consequences.
Fuck, she’s so soft.
“To fly where I’m meant to,” I whisper.
Her plush lips slightly part as the downpour settles around us, the rain no longer a sanctuary from the reality outside the umbrella of leaves.
I’m exposed.
Stripped down to regret .
“I should take you back,” I say, dropping my hand from her satin flesh.
Olivia nods, understanding my thoughts without them being spoken. “Okay.”
We pull from each other’s embrace, the loss of her warmth cracking my chest.
But I lead us back to my motorcycle anyway.
Not because I want to.
Because I have to.