Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Logan
I went through a lot of battles in high school.
~ LeBron James
The stiff, laminated card lays there, like a neon sign, blinking at us from the lobby floor.
Save the Date!
It’s the 10-year class reunion
of Sweethaven High
Come relive your favorite memories!
Olivia looks up at me from her spot on the ground, where she was unabashedly doting on my dog and talking about how she loves a man who cuddles.
I haven’t pictured cuddling with Olivia Pennington since my momentary crush on her ten years ago—the same ten years being celebrated this month at our alma mater. And now, for some reason, I can’t stop picturing cuddling with her. We could grab dinner, take it to my place, put on a movie, and I’d wrap my arm around her while we sat on my couch. She could lean into me. I’d hold her …
I shake my head lightly in an attempt to dislodge this ridiculous line of thought. As if Olivia would ever cuddle with me. She’ll barely share the same air.
And now we have our class reunion … an event that will showcase our history together, probably pouring fuel on her already burning resentment toward me.
Olivia snatches up her pile of mail, thumbing through it and finding the same announcement addressed to her. She stands up, holds the card in the air, and waves it at me.
“Yippee,” she deadpans.
“It could be fun.”
“Right. For some of us.”
I feel my brow crinkle. “Didn’t you love high school? I always thought you did.”
She pauses. “I did. Mostly.”
Then, without another word, Olivia stoops down, makes eye contact with Rhett like he’s her best friend in the world. Her voice softens to something nearly unrecognizable. “Sweet boy. You have a good night. I’ll see you soon. Okay?”
Rhett turns his face and licks Olivia’s hand, and then he nuzzles the top of his head into her palm. She rubs him a few more times from head to tail.
Olivia doesn’t look me in the eyes. She turns and walks toward the elevator—the one that goes to our floor. The same one I need to ride in. Rhett doesn’t love the spiral staircase yet. He stalls out and holds a protest about a third of the way up.
I follow behind Olivia, allowing Rhett to take the lead. He’s my Boston terrier barrier.
Olivia looks over her shoulder. She doesn’t say a word, but her face says so much. She thinks I’m following her—again. And technically, I am.
I enter the elevator after her, reaching out and pushing the button for the second floor. An awkward silence fills the space as the mechanism clanks into place and we begin the ascent to our floor.
Rhett senses the tension and makes a soft whimpering sound.
Olivia bends to comfort him and freezes midway, staring into the corner of the elevator as if she’s just seen a ghost. I follow her line of vision. There, on the elevator floor, are two fortune cookies.
What’s up with these cookies?
Someone is definitely depositing them around the building.
But why?
“Rhett found one of those outside my apartment the other day,” I tell Olivia. “I wonder who is planting them around the building.”
Olivia shrugs. She stares at the two cookies with her brow furrowed.
“Well, we may as well open them,” I suggest.
She glances at me, and I’m sure she’s about to protest, but then she squares her shoulders, steps toward the corner of the elevator, plucks both cookies off the floor, and hands one to me.
“Unless you want the other one,” she says.
“I’m good with either.”
The doors open for our floor.
Olivia steps out.
Rhett follows.
When the doors slide shut, I drop Rhett’s leash and step on the end to keep him with me. Then I look Olivia in the eye. I don’t know what it is between us, but even this feels like a competition. Who will get the best fortune? Who will rip the plastic just right? Who will eat the cookie? Who won’t?
I tear mine first. She follows suit.
“Read them aloud?” I ask.
“Sure.”
We each read our own fortune in silence.
I can’t even believe mine. Is this a joke? And how on earth will I read this to her?
The love of your life is right in front of your eyes.
Olivia glances up, daring me to go first. I silently echo her challenge. Maybe I should cut my losses and tell her goodnight. But she won’t let me escape now. I have to read this to her. She won’t have it any other way.
Our eyes lock again. We read one another like we always have. We are Batman and Catwoman, not exactly enemies but certainly not friends. A strange, almost predestined thread binds us to one another, tugging at us whenever we are within a certain range.
Olivia surprises me, turning toward her apartment suddenly.
“Goodnight, Alexander.”
“What about your fortune?” I ask, in shock.
“What about yours?” she retorts.
“Yeah. You’re right. I’ve got an early run.”
Olivia turns and stalks back toward me and Rhett.
“On the count of three, we swap papers,” she says. “And you will never—I repeat, never—mention this cookie to me again. Ever. It’s silly. Ridiculous, actually. It’s just a random cookie. You’ll see.”
“Deal,” I promise her.
Whatever hers says, it can’t be worse than mine. But as she said, these are silly cookies. Irrelevant. We won’t mention them again.
“You won’t mention mine either,” I tell her.
“Deal,” she says with a terse nod of her head.
I hold my paper out in my hand, and she plucks it away then sets hers in its place. Her fingers brush across my palm, and I feel the contact everywhere. No one has ever affected me like she does.
Maybe she’s not Catwoman. She’s Poison Ivy. And I’m highly allergic.
I pinch the paper and turn it so I can read the inscription.
The love of your life will appear in front of you unexpectedly.
She glances up at me at the same time as I look in her direction.
“Crazy, right?” she says with a forced laugh.
“Yep. Silly.”
“Okay, well … Goodnight, Logan.”
Logan . She used my first name.
“Goodnight, Olivia.”
I turn toward my apartment, and Olivia walks toward hers.
The next week, Olivia is … neutral. We don’t mention those weird cookies. But occasionally, I catch her staring at me like I’m a puzzle. One morning, midweek, we end up on the same path during our morning run. I don’t race her. Surprisingly, she doesn’t run away from me. Instead, we silently jog side by side for a stretch. Anyone watching us might think we planned to run together.
When we reach the block that leads back to The Serendipity, Olivia picks up her pace. I match hers and then add a little push. We race back to the steps. I stop in front of our building only moments before Olivia. We’re both panting and out of breath. She ignores me as she does some stretches. I give her space and go through my cool down routine at the opposite side of the steps. When Olivia finishes, she walks up the stairs without a word or a glance in my direction. I’m grateful she doesn’t turn around to see the irrepressible smile on my face.
Maybe Olivia is Catwoman after all. She’s definitely catlike. She might give you the time of day, but don’t let her know you noticed, or she’ll hiss at you and possibly show her claws. But she’s also like a kitten, playful and bright … and cuddly. Only, not cuddly with me. I need to remember that.
Charlie, Olivia, and I have been collaborating on the Untethered project over the past week and a half with some other coworkers Darwin assigned to help with project execution. We’re meeting with a few people from the Untethered team today. We’ve prepared slides and an interactive presentation, and Olivia has developed a new logo, emphasizing the letters U and N in untethered.
We join the team in the conference room. After greetings, Olivia opens her laptop to start the slideshow.
Instead of the new logo, a photo of Olivia on the precipice of a cliff shows up on the screen. She’s got her arms outstretched and her head thrown back. The sun is filtering through the sky, hitting her hair just right so it looks like wavy brown spun silk.
“Oh, uh … ” Olivia says when she sees the picture on the screen.
She quickly clicks the mouse pad and another personal photo pops up. This time she’s still hiking, and she’s making a goofy face at the camera.
“Uh, so … ” Olivia stutters.
She fumbles to click the mouse pad again.
The next photo is taken from behind her. She’s obviously fooling around by smacking her own backside, looking over her shoulder at whoever is holding the camera with a playfully flirty expression on her face.
I want to have been that person—on a hike with her, laughing, having her glance back at me with that exact look.
My imagination fixates on what could happen on a hike like that with her.
I’m snapped out of my reverie when Olivia mutters one more “Um …”
I jump in. I don’t know where these personal photos came from or who she was with when they were taken. All that is irrelevant. What matters is saving her from humiliation.
“So,” I say with as commanding a voice as I can muster. “Those photos are an example of the vibe we want to convey. They say … exercise is fun, even flirty. They tell potential clients, You can do this . They send the message that everyday people enjoy life while getting fit. Our models will obviously not work for Barnes, but for now, we wanted to give you a real, tangible feel for the kind of aesthetic we’re including in our campaign.”
Olivia stares at me during the first few beats of my bluff. But then she seems to get a hold of herself. She turns off screen sharing while I carry on, regaling the client with our plans, transitioning to the actual plans our team has developed for the rebrand of Untethered.
By the time I’ve wrapped up my spontaneous speech, Olivia has the actual slideshow queued up and ready to go.
She takes over with her usual finesse. “So, as Logan was saying, we want to focus on the UN in Untethered. Your approach is UNconventional.” She flashes to a slide from the deck we prepared.
“Uninhibited,” Olivia says with increased confidence and a click to another slide.
“UNparalleled.” She clicks to another slide.
I watch her revive to the powerful, impressive woman she is.
“We can even do some visuals where the UN blends into the word UNique.” She clicks to the next slide, and the transition effect demonstrates the concept she’s worked up. “And that can lead into presenting how each person is an individual. We thought of the tagline: You are unique. Your fitness plan should be too.”
We spend the next hour presenting our preliminary ideas and absorbing feedback from the Untethered team. By the time we’re finished, no one remembers the initial stuttering start and personal slideshow—that is, no one but Olivia, Charlie, and me.
The Untethered team leaves the conference room with smiles on their faces, excited about what’s to come. We’ve promised them tangible plans with the concepts we just presented. The first of those will be sent to them in the morning.
Olivia turns to me. “Thank you for saving me back there.”
I’m so tempted to tease her about thanking me.
My knee-jerk reaction is to say something like, “Can I record this moment—the day Olivia Pennington actually thanked me?”
But I don’t mock her. I nod once to acknowledge her show of gratitude, and then I say, “You’d have done the same for me too.”
Olivia shakes her head and shuts her eyes briefly.
We both know she wouldn’t have done the same for me, even though she would for every other person on the planet. Her heart is bigger than she lets on whenever I’m around. With any luck, after today, the next time I’m in a bind in front of a client, she might actually cover for me.
The rest of the day Olivia avoids me except when necessary for a work-related question or to seek input on the package we’re sending to Untethered tomorrow. She’s obviously not over the botched slideshow.
When I leave work, Olivia’s still sitting at one of the tables in our open workspace, her laptop open. I have the strongest urge to walk past her to say goodbye, but instinctively, I leave her alone. I walk out of the room without even glancing in her direction.
Less is more .
Not trying to win her heart—but, still.
Tonight I’m having dinner with my family. I haven’t been over since my initial visit a few days after I moved back to Serendipity Springs. Mom kept extending the invitation, so I finally agreed to join them tonight. I make a stop at a florist near my parents’ home for a bouquet of peonies—Mom’s favorite. I pull onto my parents’ circular driveway at six o’clock.
Even though Dad always says I can simply walk in, I knock. One of the double-high front doors opens, and my mother’s smiling face greets me.
She’s dressed in pressed jeans and a silk blouse, an apron tied around her waist. Her hair and makeup are impeccable, as always.
“Oh, Logan. I’m so glad you made it. We’re probably not as fun as whatever you have going on most of the time, but I’ve missed you. Knowing you’re back in town makes me more aware that I’m not seeing you as much as I’d like.”
“I missed you too, Mom. Sorry it took me a while to accept your invitation. Work’s been busy.” I step into the house, handing her the bouquet.
“Oh! Peonies! You are so thoughtful. I’ve got a charcuterie platter on the coffee table in the family room. You can grab a drink from the mini fridge.”
I pull my mother into a hug.
She sinks into our embrace, carefully holding the flowers so they don’t get crushed.
She smiles up at me when we release one another. “I’ll just get these into some water. Your dad’s out at the grill. Dinner will be on shortly.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
“No, you’re fine. Unless you want to try some life coaching on that brother of yours.”
I don’t answer her. Jacob is living in this luxury house rent-free. As far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t need anything beyond the misguided generosity of my parents.
I walk into the family room while Mom heads back into the kitchen. Jacob is sprawled on the couch playing video games with the charcuterie board nestled on the cushion in front of him as if it’s his own personal snack tray.
The sounds of cabinets opening and shutting filter through from the kitchen. The smell of my mother’s sourdough rolls fills the air. Around here, we’ve been known to fight over them warm from the oven.
Dad passes through the family room. “Jacob, what are you doing?”
“Give me a minute, Dad,” Jacob answers him. “I’m almost through this round, and I don’t want to lose my level.”
Dad turns to me. “Son, could you grab this tray of steaks and bring it through to your mother? I’ve got to put the pineapple on the grill.”
Ever since my parents took a Caribbean cruise years ago, grilling pineapple has become a part of our meal anytime the barbecue is involved.
I take the tray from my dad and walk through to the kitchen while Jacob shouts at his video game.
A few minutes later, he saunters in, pinching a noodle right out of the bowl of macaroni salad sitting on the island.
“So, I heard it’s your class reunion,” he says.
“How’d you hear that?” I ask.
“Oh, how nice,” Mom says. She opens the oven to pull out the rolls.
“Olivia will be going, right?” Jacob asks.
“Olivia Pennington?” Mom says Olivia’s name with fondness.
“How should I know?” I ask Jacob.
“Well, she’s living in your building,” Jacob says. “Is she single?”
“How should I know?” I say again.
“You could ask her,” Jacob suggests.
“I always wondered why you avoided her so much in high school,” Mom adds unhelpfully.
“I didn’t avoid her.”
“You didn’t pursue her,” Jacob says, pinching another noodle from the bowl.
Mom playfully swats his hand with a potholder. “Jacob Alexander, stop sneaking bites.”
Mom smiles affectionately at Jacob.
He smiles back at her. “I can’t help myself, Mom. Your cooking is irresistible.”
“If you think sweet-talking is going to make me overlook the pilfering … Well, you’re probably right.”
They both laugh.
At least they dropped the subject of Olivia and the reunion.
Jacob grabs for a roll, but Mom pulls the tray farther down the counter.
“Not the rolls. Even I have my limits,” she says with a smile.
“So, about Olivia,” Jacob says. “You’ve been chasing that girl since you were fifteen. What’s the plan this time? Going to trip over your words? Or just stare at her like a puppy?” He laughs like he’s joking.
“I haven’t been chasing her since I was fifteen,” I defend. “Where did you get that idea? We were never romantically interested in one another.”
“Not even now?” Jacob pushes. “She’s more beautiful than when you two left for college.”
I don’t dignify my brother with an answer.
Dad comes in and I escape the Olivia conversation by helping Mom carry the food into the dining room. We all sit to eat. Dad excuses himself from the table a few times during the meal to handle client concerns. He’s the head of his own financial planning firm, and things get crazy during tax season. We’re used to the interruptions during family suppers—and weekends and vacations.
After dinner, Dad heads out to degrease the grill.
I help my mom with the dishes.
Jacob conveniently disappeared upstairs when clean-up was mentioned.
My phone rings.
I dry my hands on a towel and grab it.
I miss the call.
A voicemail notification pings.
I push play and put the phone to my ear, stepping away from where Mom is drying the platter Dad used for the steaks.
“Logan. It’s me. Olivia. You left the props and sketches for the Untethered follow up at the office. Don’t you need to finalize everything before we send it to them tomorrow morning? Just, uh … well, you’re probably busy. I just wanted you to know where everything is. Okay. Bye.”
Did she seem annoyed?
“Mom, I’ve got to return a call. I’ll be right back.” I step into the foyer. My voice echoes off the marble floors and high ceilings.
“Hello?” Olivia answers on the first ring.
“Hi. Thanks for calling. I can’t believe I left all that at the office. I was distracted when I was leaving.”
She’s quiet, so I say, “Olivia?”
“Yeah. I’m here.”
“I’m at my parents’. Where are you?”
“I’m still at Barnes.”
“Still at work?”
“Don’t judge, Alexander. After that mess up today, I wanted to tighten my game.”
“Gotcha. I can just pop by the office to get everything on my way home.”
“Don’t bother,” she says. Her tone isn’t angry, but it’s curt. “They’re about to lock up our floor. I’m leaving now. I can bring everything to you on my way to Lynette’s. I’m staying with my niece, Cassidy, tonight. Do your parents still live in the same place? It’s on my way.”
“Yes. They do,” I say. “But you’ll need the gate code.”
Did I hear that correctly? Olivia is coming here?
“Send me the code. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. Just look at this as a debt you now owe me.”
I can’t help myself. I chuckle. She’s so resilient. And feisty. I admire Olivia more than I’ve ever been able to say to her. If I told her, she’d laugh me out of the state. I’ll just have to show her over time—if I can manage not to put my foot in it every single opportunity I get. Unfortunately, I don’t know if I’m capable of common sense when it comes to her, let alone the kinds of responses it will take to convince her I think the world of her.
The scales are uneven after I bailed her out this morning. We both know it. As much as I love winning, I detest situations where she’s at a loss.
“Got it. I’m in your debt,” I say.
The phone line goes dead.
I glance around the foyer.
An idea forms. Something I can do for Olivia. I just have to figure out a way to make this happen. Gil will have to help me.