Chapter 28 Odin
The words "engagement party" echo in my head as I pace the length of my office. Nicola left for school an hour ago, her excitement about the magazine article and party plans still lingering in the air like her perfume.
I stop at the window overlooking the construction site where my boutique hotel is taking shape. Workers move with purpose, following the blueprint I meticulously designed. Everything in my life has always followed a plan—except Nicola.
My phone buzzes with a text from Riley: So you're throwing an engagement party for your fake engagement? Bold move, brother.
I type back: It's damage control. The magazine's running the story anyway.
Three dots appear, then: Is it, though? ??
I ignore her question because I'm not ready to answer it, even to myself.
The truth is, when we decided to host an engagement party, something shifted inside me. What started as a practical solution to manage our public image has morphed into something I can't quite define. Or maybe I'm afraid to define it.
"Mr. Baxter?" The site manager knocks on the door frame. "The contractor needs your approval on the spa design modifications."
"I'll be right there."
As I revi ew plans and discuss material options, my mind keeps drifting to Nicola. To the way she curls against me in sleep. To Stevie's delighted giggles when Nicola helps her with homework. To the three of us eating breakfast together in the morning sunlight.
It feels like family. It feels like home.
"Mr. Baxter?" The contractor's voice pulls me back. "Do you want to go with the natural stone or the composite for the waterfall feature?"
"The natural stone," I decide. "It's worth the extra cost. This place needs to feel authentic."
Just like my feelings for Nicola.
After the meeting, I find myself googling jewelry stores. I tell myself I'm just exploring options for the party—maybe we need matching bands for appearance's sake. But even as I think it, I know it's a lie.
I call my mother.
"Odin? Is everything alright? Is Stevie okay?" The concern in her voice is immediate.
"Everyone's fine, Mom. I just..." I pause, unsure how to continue. "Do you still have Grandma's engagement ring?"
The silence on the other end stretches for so long I wonder if the call dropped.
"Mom?"
"I'm here." Her voice is soft. "I do have it. Are you asking what I think you're asking?"
I run a hand through my hair. "I don't know what I'm asking."
"Odin Alexander Baxter," she says, using my full name like she did when I was a child in trouble. "Are you in love with Nicola?"
The question hits me like a physical force. Am I in love with Nicola? The woman who challenges me at every turn? Who brings color and chaos into my ordered world? Who looks at Stevie with such genuine affection it makes my chest ache?
"Yes," I admit, the word barely audible. Then stronger: "Yes, I am."
My mother's delighted laugh fills the line. "Well, it's about time you figured it out. Everyone else has known for weeks."
"What do you mean, everyone knows?"
"Darling, subtlety has never been your strong suit. The way you look at her... it's how your father used to look at me."
The comparison to my father—a man who loved my mother with unwavering devotion until the day he died—leaves me speechless.
"I'll bring the ring over tonight," she continues. "It's been in the safe deposit box since your grandmother passed.”
"Mom, slow down. I haven't even decided if I'm going to propose for real."
"Haven't you?" Her tone is knowing.
After we hang up, I sit at my desk, staring at nothing. The fake engagement was supposed to be simple—a business arrangement to protect our reputations. When did it become real? When did I start wanting it to be real?
My phone rings again. It's Greg Hoyston.
"What do you want?" I answer, not bothering with pleasantries.
"Just calling to congratulate you on your engagement," he says, his voice dripping with insincerity. "Quite the whirlwind romance, isn't it? Teacher and billionaire developer? Almost sounds made up."
My jaw tightens. "Is there a point to this call?"
"Just curious about the timing. Right when the zoning board is reviewing your application for the hotel. Convenient to have a beloved local teacher on your arm, isn't it?"
"Stay awa y from Nicola," I warn, my voice dropping to a dangerous register.
"Touched a nerve, did I?" He chuckles. "See you at the next council meeting, Baxter."
The call ends, but my anger remains, a slow burn in my chest. Greg has always been a thorn in my side, from high school rivalry to business competition. But bringing Nicola into it crosses a line.
I need air. Grabbing my keys, I head out to my car, driving without a clear destination. Somehow, I end up downtown, parking in front of Redwood Hills' oldest jewelry store, Hartman's Fine Jewelry.
The bell chimes softly as I enter. The shop is empty except for an elderly man behind the counter, polishing a silver tray.
"Mr. Baxter," he greets me with a nod. "What brings you in today?"
"I'm looking for an engagement ring," I say, the words feeling strange and right simultaneously.
"For Ms. Williams, I presume?" At my surprised look, he smiles. "Small town. News travels fast."
"Right." Of course everyone knows about our "engagement." That was the point of the charade.
"I have several pieces that might interest you." He leads me to a display case filled with diamond rings. "Something traditional, perhaps?"
I scan the options, but nothing feels right. "Do you have anything unique? Nicola isn't... conventional."
He studies me for a moment, then disappears into the back room. When he returns, he's carrying a small velvet box.
"This just came in last week. Estate sale from up in Portland." He opens the box to reveal a vintage ring with an emerald center stone surrounded by small diamonds in a platinum setting. "The emerald reminded me of Ms. Williams' eyes."
It's perf ect. Elegant but not flashy. Unique but timeless. Just like her.
"May I?" I ask, and he hands me the box.
The ring catches the light, sending prisms dancing across the glass counter. I imagine it on Nicola's finger—not as part of our pretense, but as a symbol of something real.
"How much?"
He names a figure that would make most people balk, but money has never been an obstacle for me. What stops me is the magnitude of what this purchase would mean.
"I'll take it," I hear myself say
As I drive back to the office, the ring box burns a hole in my pocket. What am I doing? Planning to propose for real to a woman who thinks our relationship is just for show?
But is it? The way she looks at me sometimes, when she thinks I don't notice. The tenderness in her touch. The way she's seamlessly integrated herself into Stevie's life and mine.
I pull into the driveway of the pool house, relieved to find it empty. Stevie is at a playdate, and Nicola won't be home from school for hours. I need time to think.
Inside, evidence of Nicola is everywhere—her books on the coffee table, her cardigan draped over a chair, her favorite mug in the dish rack. In just a few weeks, she's transformed this temporary space into a home.
I take the ring box from my pocket and open it, the emerald gleaming in the afternoon light. The thought of Nicola wearing it, of making our engagement real, fills me with a certainty I haven't felt since before the accident that took my wife.
For three years, I've existed in a state of suspended animation, focused solely on Stevie and building my business. I convinced myself that was enough—that I didn't need or want anything more.
Then Nico la Williams stormed into my life with her passionate defense of her neighborhood, her unwavering optimism, and her ability to see through my carefully constructed walls.
My phone rings, startling me. It's the contractor again with questions about the hotel's electrical system. I slip the ring box back into my pocket and answer, forcing myself to focus on work.
But as I discuss voltage requirements and lighting plans, my mind keeps circling back to one undeniable truth: I want to marry Nicola Williams. Not for show. Not for convenience. But because I've fallen in love with her.
The realization should terrify me. Instead, it brings a clarity I haven't felt in years.
By the time I hear Nicola's car in the driveway, I've made my decision. I'll wait until after the engagement party. Let her think we're still playing our roles for the public. And then, when the time is right, I'll ask her for real.
The front door opens, and Stevie's excited voice fills the house. "Daddy! Miss Nicola took me for ice cream after my playdate!"
I emerge from my office to find my daughter, face smeared with chocolate, beaming up at me. Behind her stands Nicola, holding Stevie's backpack and wearing an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, I know sugar before dinner is against the rules, but she aced her spelling test, and I thought we should celebrate."
"It's fine," I say, my voice rougher than intended as emotion tightens my throat.
Nicola tilts her head, studying me. "Everything okay? You look... intense."
I cross the room and pull her into a kiss, not caring that Stevie is watching, giggling behind her hands. When I pull back, Nicola's eyes are wide with surprise.
"What was that for?" she whispers.
"Practice ," I say, the lie coming easily. "For the engagement party."
Her cheeks flush pink. "Right. The party."
As she moves past me to help Stevie wash up, I touch the ring box in my pocket.
Soon, I won't have to pretend anymore. Soon, I'll tell her the truth—that somewhere between our arguments and our laughter, between our fake engagement and our real connection, I've fallen completely, irrevocably in love with her.
And I'm hoping, against all logic and past experience, that she might feel the same way about me.