11. Chapter Eleven
chapter eleven
. . .
Olivia
I sifted flour into the mixing bowl, breathing in the comforting scent of vanilla and melting butter. Pete's nails clicked against the tile as he circled my feet, his nose twitching at the prospect of a tasty morsel.
“You know the drill, buddy. No cookies for doggos,” I said, unable to resist giving him a quick scratch behind the ears.
As I folded chocolate chips into the dough, my thoughts turned to Carter. God, what a week it had been. I'd walked into his office on Monday expecting a cold, demanding boss—and I wasn't entirely wrong. But as the days passed, I'd seen another side of him.
The way his eyes softened when he thought I wasn't looking. His insistence on getting me that ridiculously expensive ergonomic chair. The genuine concern when he'd found out about my chronic pain.
I spooned dollops of dough onto the baking sheet, remembering how my heart had skipped a beat when Carter offered to let me bring Pete to work. It was such an unexpected gesture of kindness from a man I'd pegged as all business.
“What do you think, Pete? Should we give Carter a chance?” I asked, sliding the cookies into the oven.
Pete cocked his head. “I don't know, Mom. Seems kind of a butthead.”
I laughed, wiping my hands on a dishtowel. “Yeah, I'm not sure either.”
The timer ticked away while I stood, lost in thought. Sure, Carter was frequently irritable and demanding, but there was a depth to him I hadn't expected. A complexity that both intrigued and terrified me. Because the last thing I needed right now was to develop feelings for my boss. Especially not while I was still sorting through the mess Ethan had left behind.
The beep of the oven timer interrupted my spiraling thoughts. As the aroma of freshly baked cookies filled the kitchen, a smile crept over my face. It was too soon to worry about feelings. For now, I had my dog, my cookies, and a job that was slowly helping me remember who I was.
I pulled the tray from the oven, wincing as pain radiated from my lower abdomen. “Damn it,” I muttered, setting the tray on the cooling rack with trembling hands.
Pete padded over, brown eyes full of concern.
“I'm okay, buddy,” I assured him, though the words rang hollow.
I hunched over the counter, taking slow breaths as the pain subsided to a dull throb. Who was I kidding? I wasn't the same Olivia who could spend hours in the kitchen whipping up elaborate treats after a full day spent at the shelter. That Olivia didn't live with constant pain, didn't have to calculate every movement.
My phone buzzed, interrupting my pity party. I fished it out of my pocket, surprised to see Carter's name on the screen.
CARTER
Dr. March can see you Thursday morning next week. 9 a.m. Let me know if that works.
I raised my eyebrows, caught off guard by the unexpected follow-through. Part of me had assumed Carter's offer to connect me with his doctor friend was just lip service, a boss's attempt at appearing concerned. But here was proof that he'd actually taken the time to set up an appointment.
My fingers hovered over the screen as I debated how to respond. The prospect of seeing a new doctor was daunting. I'd been down this road before and been met with skeptical looks and unhelpful suggestions. But if Dr. March was Carter's friend, she might be different.
OLIVIA
Thursday at 9 works great. Thank you, Carter. I really appreciate this.
I hit send before I could second-guess myself then set the phone aside. As I turned back to my cooling cookies, I felt a tentative gleam of hope.
The chime of the doorbell startled me. I glanced at Pete, who had perked up at the sound. “Were we expecting company?”
“ Hope they brought treats.” He trotted towards the door. I followed, curiosity piqued. When I swung the door open, I was greeted by a chorus of familiar voices.
“Surprise!” Wick, Meghan, and Marco stood on my doorstep, grinning from ear to ear.
“Oh my God!” I laughed. “What are you guys doing here?”
Wick stepped forward, wrapping me in a hug. “We thought you could use some company. And wine.” He held up a bottle of my favorite red.
“Don't forget the cheese,” Meghan added, brandishing a paper bag. “Can't have wine without a proper cheese board.”
I ushered them inside while Pete danced around their feet.
“Hope we're not interrupting anything,” Marco said, giving me a quick hug.
“Just me and my cookies. Which, now that I think about it, will go perfectly with that wine.”
As we settled into the living room, Wick uncorked the bottle while Meghan arranged an impressive array of cheeses on a platter.
“So, first week in the books. Ready to quit yet?” he asked, handing me a glass.
I took a sip before answering, savoring the rich flavor. “It's... intense. But I’m enjoying it. Carter's not exactly the easiest person to work for, but?—”
“But?” Meghan prompted.
I studied the swirling ruby liquid in my glass. “But he's not as bad as I initially thought. He can actually be quite considerate.”
“Plus, he's hot as fuck.” Wick elbowed Marco in the stomach. “Ouch! Shit! Sorry! He’s nowhere as hot as you, cucciolo.”
“Damn straight. ”
I nearly choked on my wine. “Geez, Marco! He's my boss!”
“Doesn't mean you can't appreciate the view,” Meghan said, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the hot prickles creeping up my neck. “Can we please talk about something else? Anything else?”
Marco leaned forward, his eyes glinting. “Okay, how about we discuss why you're baking cookies at”—he glanced at his watch—”9 p.m. on a Friday?”
I sighed, tugging on Pete's ears as he rested his head on my lap. “Stress baking, I guess. It's been... a lot lately.”
Wick's expression creased with concern. “How are you really doing, Liv?”
The worry in his voice made my throat tighten. I took another sip of wine, buying time to collect my thoughts. “I'm... I'm okay. Better than I was, at least. The job helps. Gives me something to focus on besides...”
I trailed off, not wanting to dive into the mess that was my personal life. But as I looked around at the caring faces of my brother and his partners, I had the sudden urge to open up.
I took a steadying breath. “It's just everything. Ethan, the miscarriages, the pain. Sometimes it’s like I'm drowning in it all.” My voice cracked, and I blinked back tears. “But then Carter offered to let me bring Pete to work, and he set up this appointment with his doctor friend. It's these little moments of kindness that keep me going, you know?”
Meghan reached over and took my hand. “That's really sweet of him, Liv. It sounds like he cares. ”
I nodded, smiling faintly. “I think he does. In his own grumpy way.”
“Speaking of grumpy,” Wick said, “how about we lighten the mood? I've got some juicy office gossip that'll make you forget all about your brooding boss.”
As Wick launched into a hilarious story about a Zoom call mishap at the last company meeting, the weight on my shoulders eased. Surrounded by family and friends, with Pete's comforting weight against my leg, it dawned on me that this was the first time in months that I’d made it through a week without crying.
My phone vibrated in my lap, and I glanced down.
CARTER
See you and Pete on Monday. Hope you enjoy your weekend.
A smile snuck onto my face before I could stop it. It wasn't much, but coming from Carter, it meant something.
“Ooh, someone's looking starry-eyed,” Meghan teased, leaning forward with a grin. “Who's the text from?”
Darn it, Olivia. Be more transparent.
“It's, uh, just Carter,” I mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. “Confirming that Pete can come to work on Monday.”
Meghan's eyebrows shot up, and she exchanged a look with Marco. “Carter, huh?”
I groaned inwardly. “Guys, it's not like that. He's just being nice.”
“Uh-huh,” Marco said. “And that's why you're blushing like a schoolgirl? ”
I hid my face behind my hands. “Oh my God, am I really that obvious?”
Meghan laughed. “Only to people who know you well, honey. But seriously, what's going on there?”
I peeked out from between my fingers, sighing. “Nothing's going on. He's my boss, remember? And I'm... well, I'm me. With all my baggage and issues.”
“Hey,” Wick said, his tone serious now. “Don't sell yourself short, Liv. You're amazing, baggage and all.”
My throat tightened. “Thanks, but I'm sure the women Carter dates are more like Meghan.”
“Hey, I have baggage!”
“Yeah, a whole closet full,” Marco murmured.
“Shut it, you.”
I shook my head. “Seriously. No way am I Carter Cassidy's type.” The truth in that statement cut me more than I cared to admit.
Deep down, I wasn't sure I was any man's type anymore. Between the trauma and the chronic pain, who would want me?