9. Chapter Nine
chapter nine
. . .
Olivia
“Ope, ‘scuse me!” I navigated through the throng of patrons, dodging waitstaff balancing drink-laden trays, until I reached the booth in the back corner. “Hey guys. Sorry I'm late. Traffic was a nightmare.”
“There she is!” Emmett crowed, raising his pint in salute. “The woman of the hour!”
A flush crept up my neck as I slid into the booth next to Carter. “Hardly. I’m just happy to be here.”
Carter's thigh brushed against mine as he shifted to make room, sending a pulse of awareness through me. I snuck a glance at him. He looked different here, away from the job site—softer. More relaxed, the ever-present furrow between his brows smoothed away. His button-down was rolled up to the elbows, revealing muscular forearms. I hastily averted my gaze so he wouldn’t catch me staring.
“You're too modest, Liv,” Wick said, leaning forward on his elbows. “You killed it out there today. The way you handled that subcontractor? Masterful.”
I shrugged, fighting a smile. “I just did my job.”
“And you did it damn well,” Callie chimed in. “Seriously, Olivia, you're a natural at this. You were clearly born to wrangle egos and put out fires.”
The praise warmed me from the inside out, chasing away my lingering doubts. I'd been nervous about joining them for drinks. It’d been years since I’d been out like this without Ethan. I’d been afraid I’d have forgotten how to socialize properly.
“Livvy, what's your poison?” Emmett asked, flagging down a waitress.
“I'll have a hard cider. But just one!”
“Oh, that sounds good. Might have one myself,” Carter said.
My eyes widened as I turned to look at him. “You drink cider?”
He shrugged, the trace of a smile playing at his lips. “Sure. Why not?”
I struggled to reconcile this new information with the image of him I'd built up in my mind. Dour, no-nonsense Carter was surely a whiskey neat or craft beer kind of guy. Not fruity cider.
“I just... didn't expect that,” I admitted, suppressing a nervous laugh
His stormy eyes met mine, a glimmer of amusement in their depths. “I do try to keep people on their toes.”
The waitress arrived with our drinks, the tart, crisp scent of apples wafting up from the frosted glasses. My stomach clenched as a memory washed over me .
“A cider? Really, Liv?” Ethan's voice dripped with contempt as he looked down at my glass. We were out with his work friends, crowded around a high-top table at some trendy gastropub downtown.
My cheeks burned. “I like cider. What's wrong with that?”
Ethan rolled his eyes, taking a long swig of his craft IPA. “It's so basic.”
His friends laughed, and I shrank into myself, wishing I could disappear. I'd spent hours getting ready for this night out, carefully selecting a little black dress that hugged my curves, painstakingly applying my makeup to achieve that “effortless” look Ethan preferred. And now, with three simple words, he'd reduced me to an awkward teenager again.
“Come on, babe,” Ethan said, snaking his arm around my waist. His fingers dug into my hip in subtle warning. “Time to grow up and drink like an adult.”
I forced a laugh. It sounded shrill and false. “You're right, of course. I'll have whatever you're having next round.”
“So, Olivia, how are you settling in? Carter working you to the bone yet?”
Callie’s voice halted my trip down crappy memory lane. I laughed, grateful for the distraction. “It's been great, actually. Challenging, but in a good way. And Carter's not nearly as terrifying as everyone made him out to be.”
“Hey!” Carter protested feebly.
“Face it, man,” Emmett said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Your reputation precedes you. Remember that time you made an intern cry because he brought you the wrong kind of pen? ”
Carter winced. “That was one time. And in my defense, who uses ballpoint pens to mark up blueprints?”
I laughed along with the others, but I noticed Carter’s shoulders stiffen. Everyone saw him as a grump, but there was more to him than that. I'd caught glimpses of it over the past few weeks—moments of unexpected kindness, flashes of dry humor, a genuine passion for his work.
“Well, I for one am grateful for Carter's exacting standards,” I said, raising my glass in a mock toast. “Makes my job easier when everything's organized just so.”
Carter looked at me. Surprise, gratitude, and a hint of something warmer flashed across his face. Heat crept up my neck, and I quickly looked away, taking a long sip of my cider.
The conversation continued, bouncing from work gossip to Emmett's latest misadventures in home-brewing. It had been ages since I'd had this much fun.
As the night wore on, I became increasingly aware of Carter beside me. The heat of his thigh pressed against mine, the rumble of his laugh vibrating through me. Every accidental brush of his arm sent sparks skittering across my skin.
Get a grip, Olivia.
But I couldn't deny the growing attraction. It wasn't only physical, though God knows the man was unfairly handsome. It was the way his eyes lit up when discussing the finer points of sustainable design. The way he listened with quiet intensity when others spoke. The rare, genuine smile that transformed his entire face.
“Earth to Olivia.” Wick's voice cut through my musings. “You still with us? ”
“Sorry, what?”
Wick grinned. “I was asking if you wanted another round. But you seemed pretty distracted.”
“Oh, um, no thanks. I should probably head out soon. Pete's probably crossing his legs by now.”
Wick snorted into his beer. “That dog's got you wrapped around his little paw, Liv.”
I stuck my tongue out at him like the grown woman I was. “Damn straight. And I wouldn't have it any other way.”
As the group began gathering their things, I felt a twinge of disappointment. I wasn't ready for the evening to end, for this bubble of warmth and belonging to burst.
We spilled out onto the sidewalk, the cool night air a refreshing contrast to the stuffy bar. Emmett and Callie headed off in one direction, while Wick lingered, his eyes darting between Carter and me. I swayed slightly, and a strong hand steadied me. I looked up to find Carter at my elbow. “Whoa there,” he cautioned playfully.
“You good to get home, Liv?” Wick asked.
I nodded, fishing my keys out of my purse. “I'll be fine. I only had the one cider. I just got a little lightheaded standing up.”
Carter's hand remained on my elbow, a solid warmth that sent tingles up my arm. “I can give you a ride home,” he offered.
“Really, I’m fine.”
Wick’s phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Shit, it’s Meg. I was supposed to be home an hour ago.”
“Uh oh,” I singsonged. “Someone’s in trouble.”
“You got this?” Wick asked Carter. When he nodded, Wick answered his phone and hurried off toward his car .
“I presume I’m the ‘this’ that you’ve ‘got?’”
“Yep. You sure you’re okay to drive?”
“Yes, Dad .”
“Can I at least walk you to your car?”
I glanced up, taking in the concern etched across his handsome features. A dangerous warmth bloomed in my stomach. “I suppose.”
We fell into step together, the air between us charged with an unfamiliar tension.
“So,” I said, desperate to break the silence. “Cider, huh? I never would have pegged you for a cider guy.”
“I'm full of surprises.”
“Clearly.” We reached my car, and I fumbled with my keys, suddenly reluctant to say goodbye. “Thanks for walking me. And for... everything, really. I appreciate your patience while I’m still learning the ropes.”
Carter's eyes met mine, their steely gray was almost silver in the dim streetlight. “You're doing fine, Olivia. Better than fine, actually. Usually I’m itching to fire my assistant by this point.”
“Thank you,” I said softly. “That means a lot, coming from you.”
There was a long pause. This had all the makings of a moment, but neither of us knew what to do with it. Then fate intervened. A sudden gust of wind had hair whipping in my face.
Carter reached out and tucked a strand behind my ear, his fingers lingering for a moment. The simple touch sent a shiver down my spine.
“You should get home,” Carter said, dropping his hand. “It's late. ”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He cleared his throat, taking a step back. “Well, goodnight then. Drive safe.”
“Goodnight, Carter.”
As I watched him walk away, his broad shoulders silhouetted in the streetlight, I felt a pang of longing. There was so much more I wanted to say, so many questions I wanted to ask. But I pushed the feelings down. What did it matter anyway? Surely I wasn’t Carter Cassidy’s type.
I climbed into my car, the leather seat cool against my skin. By the time I pulled into my driveway, I was a jumble of conflicting emotions. Pete greeted me at the door, his whole body vibrating with excitement. I scooped him up, nuzzling my face in his fur.
“Oh, Pete. I think I'm in trouble.”
As I went through my nightly routine—filling Pete's water bowl, washing my face, changing into comfy pajamas—my mind kept returning to the bar. To the easy laughter, the companionship. To Carter's knee pressed against mine, his steadying hand on my arm.
I crawled into bed, Pete curling up at my feet with a contented sigh.
My last coherent thought before sleep claimed me was of stormy gray eyes and an elusive, disarming smile. Crap.