Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Olivia
By the time I crawl into bed, I’ve walked five miles, answered eighteen texts from the contractor (most of which were about how the fixtures in my bathroom “aren’t harmonious” with the rest of the house—and one deeply suspicious mention of raccoons), filled out three shelter reports, and tried to persuade Sarah to eat something other than the gourmet meatloaf I made specifically for her last night or my sock.
She chose the sock. Again.
I’m exhausted. Deeply exhausted.
The kind of tired where your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete, and your internal organs are whispering, “Just give up.”
And yet, Sarah is still performing as if she’s starring in an off-Broadway tragedy.
She’s curled right in the middle of my bed with her head on the pillow, as if she pays rent and contributes emotionally to this household.
She’s literally moving closer and closer, trying to get me kicked out of my own bed.
If she had it her way, I’d be forced to crash on the couch while she enjoys my bed.
“You’re ridiculous,” I mumble, trying to nudge her like a normal person with boundaries.
She sighs—an actual sigh and rolls over, pressing her back against my ribs as if I were her mattress and she had chosen me as a warm wall for support.
I blink up at the ceiling.
“Oh my God, you’re pushing it, Sarah. You’re pushing so far.”
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Lucian: You awake?
My entire body reacts before my brain even registers it—thumb tapping to open the message, heart performing a full cartwheel as if we’re in a romcom montage and I’m the idiot who didn’t realize I was already falling.
Olivia: Barely.
Lucian: You decent?
If not I’m okay with that.
Olivia: That’s subjective.
Suppose you mean emotionally.
Absolutely not.
Lucian: Starting a video call in 3 .
. . 2 . . .
And then boom—Lucian Crawford, in full HD glory.
Tank top. Damp hair.
Jaw unshaven. Golden-boy glow turned up to eleven.
He resembles a magazine model who accidentally wandered into your video call.
My brain immediately short-circuits.
He smiles, his eyes sweeping over my face as if taking inventory of every reason I shouldn’t be trusted alone with him.
“Hey,” he says, low and easy.
I raise a brow. “You called to flirt, didn’t you?”
“Always.” He stretches like he knows what he’s doing to me.
“But mostly, I wanted to check on my favorite girl.”
“Wow,” I deadpan.
“I’ve been replaced already?”
Lucian smirks.
“I meant Sarah, obviously.”
“She’s thriving,” I reply, panning the camera to show his spoiled, traitorous dog sprawled across my bed as if she pays the mortgage.
The moment she spots him, Sarah lifts her head and lets out a dramatic yowl, as though she’s spotted her long-lost soulmate across enemy lines in a war movie.
Lucian’s face twists in actual pain.
“Oh, baby. Don’t cry.”
“She’s fine,” I say, unimpressed.
“She’s devastated,” he counters, like he’s ready to drive cross-country and give her a forehead kiss.
“She just had a spoonful of peanut butter and took a nap. She’s emotionally manipulating you so that you’ll jump on a plane and come to her.”
He places a hand on his heart.
“Tell her I miss her.”
“You tell her. This is a live feed.”
Lucian leans toward the camera, feigning seriousness.
“Sarah, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ll be home soon. Stay strong, my girl.”
Sarah groans like she understands every word.
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t even know what this is anymore.”
Lucian shrugs.
“Crawford charm. We train young.”
“Explains so much,” I mutter.
The silence that follows isn’t awkward.
It’s warm, somehow—easy.
The kind that sneaks in and settles between two people who’ve spent more nights talking than they’d like to admit.
He’s still watching me—not Sarah now—and there’s something different in his expression.
Less teasing. More .
. . I prefer not to think about that right now.
Feelings are not part of my vocabulary—or my state of mind.
“You really look tired,” he says softly.
I snort. “Great way to make me feel amazing.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he murmurs, his voice a bit rougher now.
His gaze drifts across the screen as if he’s searching for hidden bruises I didn’t mean to reveal.
“Long day?”
“Just the usual,” I say, brushing my hair and immediately regretting it when my fingers get caught in a knot that could qualify for maritime regulation.
“The clinic’s coming along—sort of. Mike’s crew installed cabinets I didn’t order, so that was a whole thing. The shelter had a three-dog standoff over a single chew toy. And Sarah launched a hunger strike when I swapped her treats for the ones with actual nutritional value. She acted like I replaced her liver paté with sandpaper.”
Lucian chuckles, that low, lazy kind that slides under my skin like warm water.
“You need a vacation.”
“From what? I just moved in here.”
“Sure, but you didn’t get off to a great start.” His grin is mischievous.
“Join me at training camp. I’ll sneak you in as a massage therapist. Just say the word, and I’ll make you a fake ID and all that.”
I narrow my eyes.
“You want me to rub down a bunch of sweaty football players?”
“Not a lot.” He leans forward slightly.
“Just one. Me. And I’m extremely open to inappropriate therapist-patient boundary violations.”
I roll my eyes, but my mouth betrays me with a smile.
A real one, soft and traitorous.
“You’re a menace.”
“And you’re glowing,” he says, so casually it makes my stomach dip.
“Is it me? Is it the terrible lighting in your room? Or have you finally accepted that you like talking to me?”
“I tolerate you,” I shoot back.
“That’s practically a love confession coming from you.”
He’s grinning as if he believes he has some kind of leverage over me.
Maybe he kind of does, but I’m fighting hard not to let him in.
Sure, we get along, and I know that because we slip into this rhythm so easily now, as if we were always meant to be bantering and sharing late-night texts.
And then, just like that, his smile fades a little.
His voice drops. “I’m serious, Liv. You’re doing a lot.” This, though, is something else.
This is no Lucian Crawford trying to flirt his way into my panties, nope.
Something about the way he says it makes my throat tighten.
There’s no teasing in his tone now.
No game. Just concern.
Real, honest concern from a man who shouldn’t care this much.
Not about his pup sitter and neighbor.
“You okay?”
I open my mouth.
Close it.
Because how do you answer that when you’re so accustomed to brushing it off with a joke?
When no one genuinely asks you and waits for the real answer?
“I’m . . . managing,” I say eventually, my voice quieter than before.
“Everything’s just sort of in limbo. The clinic’s still under construction. The house is—well, a drywall-scented disaster. I’m sleeping with your dog, and I may or may not be turning into the kind of woman who has full conversations with her houseplants just to feel something.”
Lucian’s gaze softens, and God help me, it does something to me.
“So, what you’re saying,” he says slowly, “is that you’re two days away from moving in, eating all my snacks, and stealing my shirts.”
My lips twitch.
“Three days, tops.”
He tilts his head.
“You know, if you want to make this official, I can clear out a drawer.”
I blink.
“What?”
“A drawer. For your stuff. And maybe a designated shelf in the fridge for whatever green sludge you drink.”
“Oh my God, I am not moving in with you.”
His grin deepens.
“You have to and we should be doing that tomorrow according to my agent.”
And that’s the moment.
The absurd, quiet, terrifying moment when I realize this is morphing into something else.
A genuine friendship or .
. . somewhere between the dog walks and the late-night video calls where we talk about everything and nothing—I started to want this.
Want to talk to him.
I gaze at the screen as if it holds answers I’m too afraid to seek.
“You should get some sleep,” he says gently.
“You too.”
“‘Night, Liv.”
“‘Night, Lucian.”
The call ends, but I don’t move.
I lie there, staring at the dark screen, with Sarah snoring beside me, and stare at the ceiling as if it will explain how I ended up here. How the running back next door became the one person I can’t imagine my life without.
And the scariest part?
I kind of like it.