Name Your Price

Chapter 8

Olivia woke in the morning at first confused about where she was. The sheets were softer than hers at home, and the silence was punctuated only by gentle bird chirps—not the rush of traffic and occasional clang of a dumpster lid being dropped. It was almost jarring. She quickly remembered she was in a secluded house in the Palisades and not her apartment.

She sat up when she also remembered that Chuck had spent the night outside.

Through the back door, she caught sight of him still in the lounge chair, one arm dangling off the edge. His broad shoulders eclipsed the sides of the frame. He’d put the shirt on at some point and left it unbuttoned.

A pang of guilt hit her at the thought that he might have truly gotten cold.

She took the silence within the house to mean that the camera crew hadn’t returned yet and figured she should use the opportunity to let Chuck back in before they made a scene, although the blinking red dots in the ceiling corners reminded her everything was already being recorded. She cringed at the thought as she climbed out of the bed and did her best not to look directly at any of the lenses aimed at her.

It was barely after seven a.m., the morning fresh and dewy outside. A marine layer had settled over the house while they slept, turning everything muted and gray, and she remembered they were much closer to the ocean than where either she or Chuck lived. The washed-out sky would burn off later and return to California blue, but for the time being, it felt like there was a dull dome over the top of them. As if they were in a snow globe filled with gauzy fog.

Chuck didn’t stir at the sound of her sliding open the door; he was notoriously difficult to wake. He’d made her late to so many events. On the occasions they’d had to get up early for anything during their relationship, Olivia had resorted to yanking off the sheets, swatting him on the butt, threatening to pour cold water on him just to drag him out of bed. In all her trials and errors, she’d found the most effective tactic to be simply announcing she was getting in the shower and walking through the room naked.

There would be no nudity this morning, at least not on her part.

A blast of air fresher than anything she breathed just a few miles inland hit her when she opened the door. The rustling palms and chirping birds greeted her like a garden lullaby. From beneath her bare feet, the chilly concrete pool deck sent a wave of goose bumps raising her skin. She wrapped her arms over her chest.

Chuck’s glasses sat on the ground below his dangling arm, as if he’d dropped them when he fell asleep. Olivia picked them up and safely set them on the small table for fear anything might happen to her favorite accessory of his in the impending storm she was about to incite when she woke him.

“Chuck,” she said. “Time to wake up. The camera crew will be here soon.” She didn’t know if the last part was true, but she’d rather not get caught red-handed for having made him sleep outside by any in-person witnesses.

He stirred at the sound of her voice and took a deep inhale. He mumbled something and turned on his side.

Olivia rolled her eyes, knowing it would be easier to drag a bear out of hibernation. “Chuck!” she called, and clapped her hands with a sharp smack. “Wake up!”

He growled at her and sat up with a stretch. “I’m awake. Stop yelling at me.”

Like the traitorous magnets they were, her eyes went straight to his bare chest. Her ogling was cut short when Chuck let out a sharp breath with a wince.

“What?” she asked with a jump, startled.

He reached for his glasses on the table and threw a hand to his lower back. “Ouch.”

“Ouch, what?”

His face screwed up into a knot and his breath grew shallow. “What do you mean, ouch what ? I slept on a lounge chair. What do you think I’m ouching about?”

She stepped back as he climbed off the chair in slow, painful motion. She thought he was only being dramatic until he froze halfway hunched over and groaned like his body was splitting in half.

“Oh!” Olivia blurted, and threw out her hands like she might need to catch him. “Are you okay?”

He tried to straighten up but didn’t get far before he let out another pained gasp. “I strained my back in the gym the other day, and this— Nope! Nope, this did not help.” He crunched over into a crescent shape and hissed through his teeth. “I need to go inside and lie down.” He hobbled like a brittle old man with Olivia trailing on his heels.

“You hurt your back?”

He cast her a glare as best he could without fully turning his head. “What does it look like?”

“No, I mean before last night. Why didn’t you say so?”

“Would that have made any difference? Oh god. Can you please open the door?” His words came out in a rush like even breathing hurt.

They’d reached the bedroom’s back door and Olivia hurried around him to open it so that they could pass inside. “Of course it would have made a difference. If I’d known you were hurt, I wouldn’t have—”

“ Ow. ” He cut her off with another guttural groan. He took tiny little steps to the foot of the bed, where he turned around and stiffly fell back onto it like a tree going down in the forest.

“What do you need?” Olivia said from where she hovered over him as she tried to gather her bearings. She’d been asleep not five minutes before.

Chuck reached up for a pillow and shoved it under his head. “You didn’t happen to pack a massage gun, did you?” His voice was pinched and tight.

Olivia’s mind flitted to the inappropriate dinner table gift Mansi had bestowed on her as the closest possible thing—which she had in fact packed—but she was not about to offer it up on camera, and it certainly wasn’t strong enough for his needs anyway.

“No.”

“Damn.” He lifted into an arch that looked like it did more harm than good and winced again. “Nope. Bad idea.”

“Chuck, I’m so sorry,” she said, truly feeling it.

“It’s fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “I just need to lie here for a little bit. It’ll loosen up.”

She gazed down at him having gone rigid in pain. “It doesn’t look fine. And isn’t lying still only going to make it stiffer?”

“Well, I can’t move, so it’s the best option right now. Just give me like ten minutes. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, but what if I—”

“Liv, I’m fine.” He turned his head to look at her where she stood wringing her hands at the bedside. He gave her a soft smile that landed closer to a grimace. “I mean, I’d give up a million dollars to have you give me a back rub right now, but since that’s not on the table, I’ll work with what I’ve got, which is over-the-counter anti-inflammatories. Could you actually get them for me? In my toiletries bag in the bathroom.”

“Yes. Definitely.” She hurried off and left him there flat on his back. In the bathroom, she pawed through his neat case of balms and creams and hair products until she found a rattling bottle of blue gel pills. She filled a glass at the sink and carried it all back to him.

“Thank you,” he muttered when he did his best to sit up and swallow the pills. “One day in and you’ve already taken me down,” he said with a smirk.

“Chuck, I’m—”

“I’m kidding. Don’t worry about it. It’s been tight for days and was basically a bomb waiting to go off. I’ll be better in a little bit.”

Olivia chewed her lip, feeling truly awful for him. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Nope, I’m good,” he said on another tight breath.

“Okay.” At a loss and still feeling guilty, she wandered through the hallway and out into the kitchen area. She was certainly wide awake now, but a cup of coffee was still in order. When she opened the pantry to find the coffee, she saw a bag of potato chips. The sight of junk food inspired a thought that eased some of her guilt, and if she was lucky, it might make the man in the other room feel a tiny bit better.

She grabbed her phone and pinched it between her ear and shoulder to call Tyler while she set about making coffee. To her surprise, he answered right away.

“Good morning, Ms. Martin,” he said.

“Oh, hey, Tyler. I wasn’t sure you’d be up. Sorry it’s so early.”

“Of course I’m up. What can I do for you?” he asked without a hint of bother.

Olivia lowered her voice; she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because she still felt bad about what had happened and speaking it softly would lessen her guilt. “I need you to pick something up at the store.”

“Oh sure! That’s what I’m here for. What is it?” His eagerness made her imagine him clicking a pen, ready to jot a note.

“Strawberry Pop-Tarts, please.”

···

Not ten minutes had passed before the doorbell rang. Olivia was going to give Tyler a tip if he’d delivered on her request so quickly, but she was instead greeted by Parker and a camera crew when she opened the front door.

“Morning!” Parker sang with as much pep as Tyler had when she’d called.

Olivia wondered if everyone on the production was a morning person.

“Hi, Parker.” She hardly managed a greeting before he pushed inside the door with the crew on his heels. Thankfully, they weren’t rolling yet because the look of surprise on her face would not have been flattering on TV.

He surveyed the entryway and welcomed himself into the living room. The intrusion reminded Olivia that she’d signed away her privacy for the chance at the prize money, so there wasn’t much point in being annoyed with it.

“Where’s Chuck?” Parker asked. A sly grin lifted one side of his mouth. “You didn’t kill him last night, did you?”

Olivia huffed a dark laugh. “No, fortunately. But he’s not feeling well this morning. He…um, hurt his back.”

Parker arched a curious brow at her. “Intriguing. I hope he’s okay because it should be only a minute until—”

“Parker, where do you want this?” someone called from the entryway.

Parker smiled. “Until that.”

Olivia did not like the mischievously pleased look on his face. A feeling of dread over what that meant settled in her belly on top of the very strong coffee she’d had. The mix was not pleasant.

Parker breezed past her back out into the entryway with his hands up like he was conducting an orchestra and ready to give instructions. Olivia hurriedly followed.

They arrived to see a team of delivery men hoisting large, flat boxes through the front door, and the pieces clicked.

Their furniture had arrived.

Their furniture that would have to be assembled.

Parker looked to Olivia to answer the question of where to put the boxes.

She tried to keep the dread out of her voice when she managed to say, “The living room is fine.”

The crew wrangled the trio of boxes—a couch, a chair, and a coffee table, she saw on the labels as they went by—into the living room and left them without any ceremony.

“So, everything go okay last night? The house is all good?” Parker asked from beside her as she surveyed the pile of oversized boxes dirty from being shipped.

She turned to him with a sour look. “Yes, Parker. The house with no internet, no food, one bed, one bathroom, and my ex who I can’t touch is lovely.”

He gave her another self-satisfied grin. “Excellent. Well, I was just popping in to make sure things were on track and you guys didn’t already bail. Oh, and to give you this.” He produced another large, flat envelope like the one that had decreed no touching, and Olivia winced. “TJ will be here soon for what comes next.”

“What comes next?” she hesitantly asked, and took the envelope.

“You’ll see,” he said in a cheery tone.

Olivia tapped the envelope against her palm. The crew hadn’t lifted their cameras yet, and she assumed they’d want her to read the message with Chuck, so she left it sealed for the time being. “I can’t wait,” she said flatly.

He winked at her. “I’m needed back at the studio. Crew will be here all day; TJ should show up around eight. You should have plenty to keep you occupied.” He nodded at the furniture. “Tell Chuck I hope he feels better. Benny.” He pointed at the cameraman nearest them and spun his finger in the air, the move Olivia now knew was his way of saying let’s roll .

He left nearly as quickly as he’d come, and Olivia was suddenly alone in a room full of deconstructed furniture with two cameramen expectantly watching her.

She sighed and silently repeated her refrain of a million dollars a million dollars a million dollars . The envelope weighed heavily in her hands. She could only imagine what was in it and was sure it had to do with the furniture situation. Looking at the largest box, she could see that they would have a navy blue couch with black wooden feet if they could manage to put it together.

A memory suddenly invaded her mind swiftly and aggressively enough that she could do nothing to stop it.

The first night she’d gone back to Chuck’s place with him—which was the night after she’d met him, she was slightly embarrassed to admit—they’d sat on his couch. As they’d kissed again, she knew even then that his lips against hers changed everything. They’d gone to dinner before, and when he invited her back to his place after, they both knew her coming was a given without him needing to ask, the same way they knew the couch was just a charade, a pit stop formality, to ease their guilt over jumping into bed after knowing each other hardly twenty-four hours.

His kisses that night were different than the ones outside Mel’s diner had been the night before. In the privacy of his home, he kissed her with more hunger, more desperation. Like she was a deep well he needed to reach the bottom of to find the water that would keep him alive. He’d laid her back on the couch; she’d wrapped her legs around his hips. They were halfway undressed, hearts pounding, when he’d mumbled “Bedroom?” against her throat, and all she could do was nod in response.

He’d carried her to his room simply because he could, and perhaps also because he didn’t want to break contact with her. She remembered drawing this conclusion at the time amid swooning hard enough to pass out because she was being carried to bed by a man so desperate to have her that he couldn’t bear the thought of setting her down. Whatever his reason, she’d clung to him with the same desperation, the same need to seal her body to his, until he’d laid her down on his mattress. Then he’d—

“Olivia?”

The sound of her name jarred her out of the fantasy with the force of a fishhook.

She blinked several times and looked up to see Tyler standing in the living room entryway with a shopping bag looped over his arm. “The door was open, so I came in. I got what you asked for.” He held out the bag with a smile.

Pulling her brain from the lurid memory took an embarrassing amount of effort. She blinked several times more, her face surely flushed, and remembered she was on camera. Benny had set up in the corner already.

“Um, thank you,” she said to Tyler. Her head was still spinning.

“Of course.” He beamed at her. “Need anything else?”

“Not right now, I don’t think. I’m going to take this to Chuck. I’ll be right back.” She headed for the hall and worked to fully pull her mind out of her memory. Damn it , Chuck. His hooks were so deep into her, clothing and furniture could make her fall victim to memory. She shook it away and entered the bedroom.

“Chuck?” she called. “Good news, I got you something to help you feel better—” She rounded the doorway to find the room empty. “Chuck?”

“I’m in here,” he said from the bathroom.

She turned in that direction, expecting to find him at the sink. “What are you—” She cut off with a gasp.

“I’m taking a bath. The heat helps.”

Olivia dropped the bag and threw her hand over her eyes. “You’re naked!”

“Yes,” he said flatly as if in a trance. “That is generally required for taking a bath.”

Her heart started pounding. She’d seen it all before, of course, but wasn’t expecting to walk in on it unannounced. He sat in the tub up to his chin, and the water only made everything look…enlarged. Forget the couch memory; this was ten thousand times more powerful. “Okay, well, um, here are some Pop-Tarts. I thought you might like a treat. I’ll just leave them here for you.” She scooted the bag with her foot, hand still over her eyes.

“Thank you.”

She couldn’t tell if the thick slowness to his voice was from being in pain or the spell the bath had him under, but he sounded ready to go back to sleep.

“Also, the furniture is here, and they gave us another challenge in an envelope. TJ is set to show up in ten minutes.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll get out, then.”

The sound of sloshing water made her do an about-face and dash into the bedroom. It took several deep breaths for her to shake the image of him naked in the tub, which was only made harder by the memory she’d been indulging in moments before. She was tempted to fire off her first yellow bikini text to Mansi for help but instead decided to head back into the living room.

There, she found that TJ had arrived early.

“Olivia!” he sang in his booming voice. He threw out his arms and sent a waft of his thick cologne billowing from his blazer. “Good morning. Where’s your other half?”

She made a mental note to start setting an alarm so that she was actually awake if the crew was going to show up crowing like roosters every morning.

“He’s getting out of the bath. He’ll be out in a minute.”

“Ah. And what were you doing back there with him, hmmm? I hope nothing scandalous .” He waggled his brows and shimmied his shoulders with a wink. “Actually, who am I kidding—I hope it was scandalous!” He let out a loud guffaw, and Olivia wanted to go back to bed and start the day over. Scratch that. She wanted to go back to the day she and Chuck broke up and keep their argument inside his apartment so that they’d never land in this ridiculous situation in the first place.

“No scandals, TJ. Sorry,” she said with her best smile for the camera.

TJ eyed her like he didn’t believe her.

Chuck emerged from the hall wearing a black tee shirt and a pair of loose shorts. His skin was rosy from the hot water.

“Ah, good morning , Chuck!” TJ boomed.

“Hey, TJ,” Chuck responded with a fraction of the enthusiasm. He was upright and moving and sounding less miserable, so Olivia had to assume he was already in better shape.

When TJ headed into the living room with the crew, she nudged Chuck with her elbow and quietly murmured, “You okay?”

He shot her a half smile. “Yeah. Pop-Tarts are a universal remedy.” His eyes snagged hers for a tender second before she looked down and followed TJ.

They found him standing among the furniture boxes holding an iPad with 1:00 glowing in enormous red digits, and it served as a distraction. “Are you ready for your next challenge?” He gestured at the envelope in Olivia’s hands.

“That depends on what it is,” she muttered, and slipped her finger under the seal. Chuck stood behind her smelling like soap and still radiating heat from his bath. Olivia cleared her throat and began to read the letter inside.

“?‘Olivia and Chuck, we hope you are enjoying your stay. In an effort to make it more comfortable, we have provided you with new furniture. You will have one hour to assemble as much of it as you can. Anything left incomplete at that time will be removed from the house. Remember, teamwork makes the dream work. Good luck!’?”

Chuck reached for the letter and nodded. “Okay, an hour is plenty of time. Three pieces of furniture, two of us. This should be easy.”

Olivia was less optimistic about their ability to handle Slot A and Part B without issue, but she agreed that an hour should be enough time.

And, like he was dousing their newly stoked flame of hope with water, TJ grinned and reached into his back pocket. “There’s more.”

They both looked up at him.

“More?” Chuck said.

With his most self-satisfied sinister grin to date, he held up a pair of handcuffs. “Indeed.”

Olivia’s belly bottomed out at the sight of the shiny silver rings. In the right context, handcuffs and Chuck were a delicious combination—she knew from experience. But this was not that context. Not even close.

“You’re both right-handed, right?” TJ asked, and approached them with one of the rings open like a hooked jaw.

“Yeah…?” Chuck said. The trepidation in his voice stirred every nerve in Olivia’s body. Whatever was about to happen was not good.

“Excellent,” TJ said. “Olivia, would you please turn around?”

She did as she was asked, now standing shoulder to shoulder with Chuck and facing the opposite direction, and felt TJ take her right wrist. The metallic click of the icy cuff closing around it made her heart skip in an unpleasant way. She looked over at Chuck as TJ took his right wrist and shackled it to hers. The tiny chain links between the cuffs were hardly two inches long. When TJ finished, they faced opposite directions with their dominant hands bound together at their sides.

TJ stood back and clapped his hands. Olivia looked over her shoulder to see him reach for the iPad and jab it with a finger. “Your hour starts now.”

They stood there frozen, both blinking in disbelief.

“Are you joking right now?” Chuck said.

“Nope! Go ,” TJ cheered. “You’re already losing time!”

They both took a step forward—in opposite directions—and the sheer mass of Chuck’s body versus hers pulled Olivia backward to the floor.

“Ow!” she cried when she fell on her butt.

“Oh! Liv, I’m sorry,” he said, and helped her up.

“Take it easy, Chuck. You’re way bigger than me!” she scolded, and soothed her bottom with her hand.

“I’m sorry. Let’s just—” He started to turn around.

“No, that won’t—” Olivia said, and spun the other way.

“Let me go this way—”

“That’s not going to—”

“Ouch!”

“Sorry.”

“Put your arm over here—”

“It doesn’t bend that way!”

They spent a few minutes twisting and turning, trying to find a position that would allow them to function, but it was no use. They were stuck.

“We’re just wasting time!” Olivia finally blurted when he tried to spin her in another useless dance move. “Stop!”

Chuck held still and huffed a tight breath, already frustrated. “We need a plan.”

“You’re right.” She twisted around in front of him, her back to his front, and her arm yanked around backward, so that she could see the boxes. “Which of these do we want the most because we’re probably only going to have time for one: couch, chair, or table?”

“Couch. Definitely couch.”

“Agreed. Let’s do the couch.”

“Great. Where do we start?”

“Well, I assume we need to open the box,” she said drolly.

“An attitude isn’t going to help anything right now,” he said, and set off for the kitchen to find a sharp object.

Olivia stumbled backward in his wake. “No, and neither is you yanking me around like a rag doll! Stop it!” She yanked on his arm with a sharp pull. “We are attached , Chuck!”

“Sorry. I’m not used to having to account for someone else ,” he said, and yanked back. He pulled open a kitchen drawer to a useless pile of tea towels.

She scoffed. “That’s symbolic.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you often forget there are other people in the world beside yourself. Like ones who invite you to birthday parties for their grandmothers that you don’t show up for.”

“Oh, are you ever going to let that go?” He pulled open another drawer and found pot holders and oven mitts. He moved to the drawers in the island and dragged Olivia behind him.

“I’ll let it go when you apologize and mean it .”

“I did mean it! I apologized a hundred different ways, and you still refuse to forgive me. I swear, Olivia, sometimes I think you don’t want to forgive me.”

She gasped, offended. “What does that mean?”

He reached for yet another drawer, this one full of rubber bands and an array of plastic takeout silverware and chopsticks. Olivia wondered who’d put it all there and what this house had previously been used for. “It means that sometimes I think you like to be mad at me. It gives you an excuse to push me away—and to run away from our problems.”

Growing tired of his search and their conversation, she tugged him back over near the fridge to the drawer where she’d found the lighter the night before. She pulled out the box cutter she’d seen and flipped up the blade. The overhead lights glinted off the sharp razor where she held it up between them. “Well, a lot of good running did me this time because look where we ended up.”

His eyes bounced from the blade to her. His chest pumped from shouting, and his nostrils flared. She could see the vein in his forehead that throbbed when they fought. She could have painted a portrait of him from memory. Angry Man during Fight with Girlfriend. Except this time, as he stared at her fuming, something soft cracked open in his eyes. Something fragile that looked almost…hopeful. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Look where we ended up. Nowhere to go this time.”

Olivia wasn’t sure what he meant by it, but she saw the clock in the living room. They were down to fifty minutes. “Come on,” she said, and spun around to pull him in that direction.

She handed over the box cutter and let Chuck do the honors. When he cut open the couch’s box, dragging her hand along with his, the longest side of the cardboard fell forward like a drawbridge and set a flurry of Styrofoam beads broken off from the inner padding fluttering. The parts were efficiently packed inside like a jigsaw puzzle. They both stared at it, him facing forward, her from over her shoulder.

“This is going to take forever,” Chuck said.

“Forty-nine minutes!” TJ sang out from where he was gleefully watching the whole scene unfold.

Olivia spun around and dug the instruction manual out of the box. Of course, it was a dozen pages of uninterpretable diagrams and nothing more.

“Great,” she muttered.

Chuck reached over her and found the lone tool, a wimpy little Allen wrench, and sighed. “Even better.”

She realized, as they set about wrangling the parts as best they could while TJ called off countdown milestones with increasing fervor, that they had joined ranks with any high-stakes timed reality competition. Whether they were cooking an elaborate dish from a collection of pantry flotsam and jetsam, or solving a puzzle, or making a garment, or even learning choreography, there was always a countdown and something on the line. The handcuffs were an added obstacle. Like having to make soup from toothpicks and a packet of ketchup, or learn a dance blindfolded. She wondered as she handed Chuck screws to attach one of the couch’s feet what other reality TV tropes the producers were going to subject them to.

Forty-eight minutes later, after what felt like the most bizarre game of Twister ever (Put your left hand there ! No, use your right hand! Lift your leg! Your other leg!), and by some miracle, they had an assembled couch. They’d managed to do it without killing each other or with any injury—which was saying a lot on both counts, all things considered.

“Well, congrats!” TJ said, and unlocked their handcuffs. “I am duly impressed.”

Olivia rubbed her wrist, where she’d surely have bruises from being yanked around for an hour. She couldn’t help the proud grin on her lips. She noticed a similar one on Chuck’s.

“One is better than none,” Chuck said, and nodded at the two other pieces of furniture still in their boxes.

“Indeed, it is, Chuck. And in truth, we didn’t even expect you to get one at all.”

Chuck snorted. “Again, your faith is overwhelming.”

“I call it like I see it.” TJ clapped him on the back. “Well, go ahead and sit on it. Make sure it’s sturdy.”

Both Olivia and Chuck walked over and gingerly perched on the cushions. Olivia was less concerned about their handiwork than she was about the quality of the couch itself. Thankfully, it didn’t collapse.

“Well well well,” TJ said with a flashy grin. “Look at that. Nice teamwork! You’re free to do whatever you want for the rest of the day now.” He dropped his big game show grin and stepped off camera. He stretched out his mouth like it might have been sore from smiling so much.

Olivia was rubbing her wrist when Chuck turned to her.

“Is your arm okay?”

She noted that he too had a red ring around his wrist. “It will be fine. Good thing we aren’t cuffed together the whole time we’re in here.”

He huffed a laugh and combed a hand through his mussed hair. “Good thing.”

“How’s your back?” she asked.

“Not great, but at least the past hour was a distraction. I think I’m going to go stretch in the gym and then lie down.” He got up and left her there with their new couch and the camera crew and feeling guilty all over again.

···

While Chuck rested for most of the day, Olivia watched a few movies, pined for the internet, and decided what to make for dinner. He found her in the kitchen around six p.m. flipping a pair of steaks in a cast-iron skillet.

“Is that what I think it is?”

She turned at the sound of his voice from her position in front of the stove. He was freshly showered, his hair wet and matted down, and wearing a black tee shirt that hit his arms in a way that made her take a big gulp of the wine in her hand. She took another sip for good measure because he’d already put on his glasses for the night.

Thoughts of asking him if he was intentionally making things difficult for her entered her mind, but she instead smiled and turned back to the slabs of meat hissing on the stove.

“Sure is. I made garlic potatoes and—”

“Roasted Brussels sprouts,” he finished for her. She glanced over her shoulder to see him take a seat at the island and pluck one of the little roasted cabbages from the serving bowl where she’d left them. “My favorite meal,” he said after he ate it. “Between this and the Pop-Tarts, I guess I should make you feel tremendously guilty more often.”

Olivia used a pair of tongs to pull the steaks from the pan and then glared at him as she turned around and set the plate on the island. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

“Much better. I told you I just needed to rest and I’d be fine.”

She scrunched up her nose. “I’m really sorry.”

He shrugged and nodded at the plates. “I thought we had to agree on dinner. How did you manage this?”

She topped off her wineglass and then held the bottle over an empty one, silently asking if he wanted some.

He nodded and held up his fingers with about an inch between them.

She poured him an inch and a half, knowing that was what he really meant. “I managed by telling Tyler this is your favorite meal, and that I was sure you would agree to eating it tonight.” She leaned over the island and conspiratorially lowered her voice. The camera crew had left early given that the day turned out exceptionally boring what with Chuck resting and her watching movies all afternoon, but there were still the cameras in the ceiling to mind. “Between you and me, Tyler is a pushover. It doesn’t take much to convince him of anything.”

“Or maybe you’re just very compelling,” he said with a crooked grin that felt like he was flirting.

Olivia quickly changed the subject. “The couch passed the rigorous movie marathon test I put it through today, so as long as we limit ourselves to gentle lounging, I think it should hold up.”

Chuck sputtered into his wine, and the sound made her realize he thought she was making a suggestive comment about other uses for the couch.

“Oh! I didn’t mean—”

He shook his head with a shy flush in his cheeks. “The couch is for sitting or lying only, got it.”

Olivia tucked her hair behind her ear and set about plating their dinner.

They sat at the barstools facing into the kitchen, which felt a little less intimidating than formally sitting at the dining table. A casual ease hung over the room, and Olivia found herself settling into a relaxed meal.

The wine might have had something to do with it.

Chuck cut into his steak and took a bite. A little groan escaped his throat that made Olivia sit up straighter. “You know, your cooking skills are underrated.”

“Thank…you?” she said, and cast him a curious look.

He waved his fork over his plate. “I just mean we hardly ever eat anything home-cooked together, but when we do, it’s amazing.”

“Yeah, because we can’t ever agree on anything.” The words slipped from her lips like they were ready and waiting to go.

Chuck cast her side eyes and sipped his wine. She expected him to volley a snarky remark right back, but instead, he said, “You’re right. I know I’d be considered a picky eater in some circles, and you’re incredibly patient for putting up with it.”

Olivia snorted. “I don’t know if I’d consider giving up and ordering takeout for myself patient, but thanks.”

“You did your best. I know I’m not that easy.”

It took a willful effort to stop the next quip from slipping off her tongue. The habit was so ingrained, it was like unlearning how to ride a bike or write with her dominant hand. She suspiciously eyed him and took another gulp of wine. “Am I drunk or are you being weird? Why are you admitting to your faults right now?”

He laughed a warm, gravelly sound and nodded at the half-empty wine bottle. “Judging by how much wine is left in there, no, you are not drunk. You’d need at least another glass before your lips got tingly, and two more before you started getting philosophical and handsy.”

Her mouth popped open to argue at the same time she blushed. She could not deny that either of those things was true. “Shut up,” she said with a half smile. “You do not know my drink thresholds.”

“Oh, but I absolutely do.” He reached for the bottle and refilled her half-empty glass. Then he leaned his elbow on the island and turned toward her. “I know all sorts of things about you, Olivia Grace Martin.” He cocked his head like he was studying her. His eyes turned soft and sincere. Something daring flickered in them at the same time. “One glass of wine, you’re relaxed, pliable. Two, your lips start to turn purple, and you kiss with your mouth open.”

She felt herself flush again and swore he’d scooted closer. His eyes traced her mouth, and with the heat of his gaze, he might as well have been running his thumb over her bottom lip.

“Three,” he continued, “and your hands find their way to my back pockets and the inside of my collar, and usually my hair, which I have to admit always made it hard to concentrate when you inevitably start talking about the finer points of human existence on a floating rock in the middle of nothing with drink four.”

He really had moved closer. His knee was dangerously close to touching hers now.

“Five,” he said in a low growl that she had to lean in to hear, “and I’m carrying you to bed, where things I will not describe in polite company tend to occur.” His eyes flicked up to the camera in the corner. The soft grin on his face was positively wicked, and Olivia noticed she’d stopped breathing.

He stared at her for three more seconds, each one making her feel like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. She was the one to tear her gaze away and it was as if she’d severed a physical thing. When she regained the ability to breathe, she nodded at the bottle and stabbed a Brussels sprout. “Better put the cork back in, then, shouldn’t we.”

Chuck held still long enough to make it feel like the air between them might ignite and incinerate them both. Olivia wasn’t sure what he was going to do, or what she wanted him to do. Half of her wanted him to pour the bottle down the drain and the other half wanted him to pour it in their glasses until they had to open another. He ended her game of daring him and damning him when he softly laughed and found the cork to wedge it back in.

Olivia exhaled in relief loud enough—louder than she’d meant—that he glanced at her. His lips lifted in an imperceptible twitch that no one else would have noticed except her, because she knew all sorts of things about Charles Michael Walsh too. Like how he tasted when she kissed him with her mouth open, and what his shampoo made his hair smell like. And how he lightly shivered when she ran her fingertip along his collarbone, and the sounds he made after he carried her to bed and polite company was gone.

At the risk of doing something she’d regret, she pulled away and focused on her food. “You never answered my question,” she said.

“Which one?”

“The one about why you were listing your faults.”

“Ah,” he said as if her question was a buzzkill. And the buzz she was feeling definitely needed to be killed. “Dunno. I guess it seemed like a reasonable time to bring it up.”

She snorted. “Why, because we’re broken up and locked in a house together with nothing better to do than analyze where it all went wrong?”

He cast her a side glance and shrugged. “I mean, yeah.”

Olivia couldn’t help laughing. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t see why not. Come on, you give it a try. It feels kind of good to admit after all this time. What’s something you could have fixed?”

She frowned at him, not liking his implication that there was a list at the ready. But if she thought about it, he was right: there were several admissions she could make about herself that might have made their relationship a little smoother during its time.

She sighed and thought back to their argument on the day their relationship ended. She’d hated to admit it, but there was some truth to things he’d said. “Fine. I guess I can be a little stubbornly independent. I’m just used to being on my own, and I can see how that might be hard to deal with.” The final words came out with the ease of a cat gagging up a hairball. A shudder shook her shoulders just as she reached for her glass of wine to wash down the icky feeling of self-reflection.

Chuck laughed. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“That was literally the worst thing you’ve ever made me do. I might never forgive you.” She spoke into her glass, and her voice echoed back like it was a tiny amphitheater.

“Baby steps. I’ll settle for one confession tonight, but we’ve got a long way to go in this house still.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

“Oh please. It’s not that bad. Look! We’ve survived almost forty-eight whole hours together.” He pointed at the clock on the microwave.

“Yeah, well, we are about to encounter our first round of real dishes, and we both know our track record there.”

A smirk bent his lips. “ I will do the dishes tonight. It’s only fair if you cooked.”

She blankly stared at him, her expression one of utter shock. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

“Wow. If I’d known the threshold was a million dollars, I would have pooled my assets ages ago.”

He rolled his eyes this time, and she couldn’t help smiling.

The upturn in their compatibility encouraged her to ask a question she’d been thinking about all day.

“Earlier when we were working on the couch, what did you mean when you said there’s nowhere to go this time?”

He paused chewing and looked over at her. “I thought it was obvious. We’re locked in a house.”

“Well, yes. I know. But you sounded kind of…happy about it?” Uncertainty colored her voice. After thinking about it all day, she did and didn’t want to know what he’d meant.

Chuck took a sip of his wine and then cleared his throat. A cautious seriousness settled over him and made Olivia wonder if she shouldn’t have asked. His voice came out careful and calm, as if he were tiptoeing through a minefield. “To be honest, I’m not entirely mad about it. You have the tendency to… sidestep confrontation, and being stuck here together is a natural barrier to that.”

She blinked at him in confusion. “Chuck, you and I fight like it’s an Olympic sport. You think I sidestep confrontation?”

“Not in that sense, no. I mean you tend to never finish a fight. You walk away before it’s over, and then I’m chasing after you for some kind of resolution. That I usually never get.” He said the last part quietly and glanced at her.

She suddenly felt naked. Like she’d been stripped bare, and a spotlight shone on her right there on the kitchen barstool in front of all the cameras. Her reflex was to deny.

She folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“It is, though. You’re like the sexy cat that’s always trying to get away from Pepé Le Pew.”

She snorted. “So, you’re the problematic cartoon skunk in this analogy?”

“See, there it is again: deflection. If you aren’t physically running, you’re emotionally running.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil.”

“You’re doing it again! Stop it!”

“Stop comparing us to animated characters!”

“That was a bad example, sorry. But I’m only trying to make a point, and that is that we never really talk about anything because you’re always avoiding it.”

Olivia heaved a breath and held her forehead in her hand. She did, indeed, regret starting this conversation now, but since they were in it, they might as well continue. “Fine. You want to talk? Let’s talk. As you’ve pointed out, there’s nowhere to run.”

A small, victorious, but hesitant smile twitched Chuck’s mouth. “Great, let’s talk.”

“Let’s.”

They stared at each other, a million topics swimming like hungry sharks between them, and neither of them sure where to begin.

“Why’d we break up?” Chuck said.

Olivia sputtered much like he had done when she’d laid down no sex as their first rule that night in the diner. “ That’s where you want to start?”

“The end seems like a good beginning.”

“Now who’s getting philosophical?”

“Olivia! See, this is what I’m talking about! You’re so predictable that we could turn this into a drinking game: Take a drink every time Olivia avoids an emotional confrontation. I’ll have to call Tyler for a case of wine and then have my stomach pumped before I succumb to alcohol poisoning.”

“Okay, drama queen. Calm down.”

“You know what, forget it. I’m trying to have a conversation with you, and you’re obviously not taking it seriously. I’m just going to do the dishes and go to bed.” He stood from his stool, sending it scraping against the tile, and rounded the island.

Olivia watched his back as he started in at the sink. The urge to micromanage his dishwashing hit her like a sack of rocks, but she was too distracted by her body unpleasantly tingling all over. She didn’t like being called out, especially on a topic that made her want to run faster and farther than any other. Whether it was conscious or not, she didn’t finish fights because finishing would mean reaching an inevitable end point, and an end point might result in her being left alone. Abandoned. So it was better to run away before it ever got there. Do the leaving before anyone could leave her.

But she realized as she watched him squirt a truly inappropriate amount of soap into the filling sink, enough to surely result in a sudsy mess, that she hadn’t been the only one to run that day they broke up. He’d called it quits too. The irrefutable proof was immortalized on the internet.

She stood from her stool and raised her voice to speak over the sound of the gushing sink. “You walked away that day too, Chuck.”

He paused with the dishes and gripped the sink’s edge. He didn’t fully turn around but swiveled his head so that she could see his profile. His jaw was tight when he spoke in a resigned tone. “Only because you gave me no choice, Olivia.”

The words walloped her right in the chest and left her feeling winded. She backed away before he could say anything else that would cut her off at the knees and scurried down the hall to the bedroom.

Now that they had a couch, she intended to give him the bed because she still felt bad about his back and wanted him to get a good night’s rest. She brushed her teeth and removed her makeup, all while avoiding her reflection because she didn’t want to see the truth of what he’d said staring back at her, and changed into pajamas.

He was still doing dishes by the time she returned to the living room to build a nest on the couch. He found her there watching Finding Nemo when he finished. He paused by the archway leading back into the entryway.

“So, I take it you’re sleeping out here tonight?” A tinge of hope lingered in his voice. Perhaps he thought they might continue their conversation.

“Yep. Good night, Pepé.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head with a sigh. “Good night.” Then he flipped off the light and left her alone.