Chapter 41
Chapter Forty One
Olivia
I told her not to come into work today. Go to the hospital. She argued half-heartedly for about three messages, then gave in with a red heart and a thank you. She would’ve been useless with her mind on her family anyway.
Morning Ops departments huddle in the staff corridor behind the sportsbook: Housekeeping, Front Desk, Banquets, Security, Gaming. I go through the motions. It’s hard to believe that this is technically only our first week open. The grand opening feels like forever ago.
But the world goes on. Whatever is happening, the guests need staff, and staff need management. So here I am.
“Any escalations from overnight?” I ask of everyone.
“Couple of noise complaints on twenty-one,” front desk says. “Handled.”
“Lost wallet at the high-limit bar,” security adds. “Returned.”
“Buffet is short a line cook,” F warm squares of light against the darkening day.
I kill the engine, grab my bag, and walk up the path, every footstep too loud in my own head.
I raise my hand and knock. For a ridiculous beat, I picture him opening the door, and everything in me goes tight.
The door swings open, but it isn’t Roberto.
“Olivia,” Clara says, surprised, then softens into a smile that eases me. “Hello, dear.”
“Hi,” I manage. “I— I should have called. I can come back. Or not. I’m sorry.”
She waves off the apology like a gnat. “Don’t be silly. Come in before you freeze.” She steps back, and I cross the threshold; the smell of cleaner is in the air. “He’s out just now.”
My stomach dips. “Right. Of course. I shouldn’t have just shown up.” I glance toward the hallway, then back to her. “I’ll go.”
“Don’t.” Her hand is light on my forearm, grandmother-gentle, steady. “He won’t be long.”
“I don’t want to—” I start.
“Inconvenience anyone? Cause worry?” She arches a knowing eyebrow. “You couldn’t if you tried. Stay.”
“I don’t know if he’d want that,” I say, honesty slipping out before I can dress it up. “The other night was… and today— I’m not sure where we…” I trail off because I can’t even find the right noun for whatever we are right now.
Clara’s smile deepens with something like fondness and certainty. “He will want that.” She tilts her head. “Tea?”
I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Tea would be great.”
She leads me toward the kitchen, and the quiet click of her shoes on tile settles my nerves.
The counters are immaculate, the same as always; a kettle sits ready on the back burner as if she anticipated company. She sets water to boil, then pulls down a tin and sets two mugs on the island.
“Chamomile?” she asks.
“Perfect.”
Steam curls. I wrap my fingers around the warm mug when she hands it over and let the heat bleed into my hands.
“Are you sure it’s all right?” I ask. “I can come back another time.”
“He’ll want to see you,” Clara simply says.
My eyes flick up. “Did he say that?”
“No, but he doesn’t need to.” Clara studies me for a beat like she’s choosing her next words with care. “I haven’t seen him like this about a woman in a long time,” she says at last. “Not since Maria.”
I look down at my tea and swallow against the sudden dryness. “I don’t want to hurt him,” I say, barely audible. “Or make things harder.”
“You won’t,” she says, sure in a way that makes me want to be. “Life has already done enough of that. He is different with you.” She lifts a shoulder. “Lighter, even when he is carrying weight.”
She reaches over and covers my hand with hers. “You carry a weight too.”
My eyes threaten to fill, but I force it back. “It’s not important right now. Antonio is.”
“If it’s important to you, it’s important.” Clara pats my wrist, eyes kind. “You’re good for him, and he’s good for you,” she says, and the statement makes me blink.
Is it really that simple?
“Please stay,” she says, echoing herself.
I breathe in the steam of the tea and the faintest thread of his cologne still in the air.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll stay.”