5. Olivia
CHAPTER 5
Olivia
“Y ou live next door to Bax Mayson?” Holly, who works the front desk, asks as she bursts into my tiny office, causing me to jump. I almost spill my coffee down the front of my scrubs.
“Umm… yes?” I frown, watching her fall into the chair I use when I’m doing injections.
“How did I not know this?” She matches my expression, gathering her long, blonde hair up into a bun and wrapping a hair tie around it.
“Because it’s not a big deal. How did you even find out?”
“My grandma lives in the same neighborhood as him and told me there was an incident yesterday with a semi-truck and that the police showed up. I put two and two together.”
“Oh.”
“She said he came out to help you and that you two seemed cozy,” she adds, acting overly nonchalant.
“We weren’t cozy.” I set my coffee aside and barely avoid rolling my eyes.
“Well, she said you were.”
“We weren’t. I was there . He was just helping me out.”
“That’s a bummer.” She pouts. “He’s hot, and you’re…” Her eyes wander over my face as she scrutinizes me. “Well, you’re you. So I could totally see you two together.”
“He’s my older brother’s best friend.”
“Ooo.” Her eyes widen and sparkle. “A forbidden romance.”
“Don’t you have work to do?” I laugh, pushing out of my chair so I can put my empty coffee cup in the trash.
“No.” She grins. “It’s slow right now, so I have lots of time to harass you.”
“Why are we harassing Olivia?” Julie, one of the co-owners of the spa, asks as she stops at my office door with a smile.
Holly leans forward like she’s about to reveal the juiciest gossip to hit the state of Tennessee in years. “Olivia lives next to Bax Mayson, and my grandma saw them together last night.”
Julie’s eyes come to me. “Are you interested in him?”
It’s not the concern in her tone that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It’s the look on her face that does.
“He’s my brother’s best friend.”
“Who’s your brother?”
“Liam.”
“I didn’t even put two and two together with your last name.”
“Do you know Liam?”
“There aren’t too many women who don’t,” she mutters, and I press my lips together.
Sadly, she’s not wrong. My brother dates a lot and has never once had a serious girlfriend.
“And I also know Bax.”
The way she says she knows him and the look on her face makes me wonder if the two of them have hooked up. I can see him being interested in her. She’s beautiful, with blonde hair a shade darker than Holly’s, glowing skin, and perfectly proportioned features.
Her attention moves to Holly, the smile she had when she stepped into my office a few minutes ago is long gone. “Shouldn’t you be at the front desk?”
“Sorry, yes.” Holly gets up from my chair and sends me a look that says, “Eek!” before she disappears out the door.
When Julie’s attention comes back to me, I brace for her next words.
“I know you just started, Olivia, so FYI, we really try to keep this place a gossip and drama-free space.”
“Of course,” I whisper, feeling like a scolded child who’s done something wrong even though I wasn’t the one who was gossiping.
“I’m leaving for the day. Eva will be in this afternoon.” Her eyes wander over me before she turns and walks out of my office without a goodbye.
Feeling frustrated and maybe even a little angry, I walk over to my desk and take a seat, wiggling my mouse to bring my screen to life. Then, I click on my next client’s profile to go over her information.
“Was that totally awkward, or is it just me?” Holly asks, poking her head into my office a minute after I hear the bell for the front door ding.
“It was definitely awkward.” I meet her gaze.
“Maybe she needs to join that Bax Mayson Support Group in town.”
“The what?” I laugh.
“Apparently, there is a group of women who get together once a month for drinks and to share their woes after he’s dumped them.”
My lips part in disbelief. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious.”
“There is a support group for women Bax has dated?”
“Yeah, so he’s either that good… or that bad.” Her grin is sly. “I bet it’s because he’s that good .”
“Holly!” I scold.
“What? I’ve seen him mowing his lawn shirtless, and that guy is hooot .” She is not wrong about that. “There is no way God would create a specimen as good-looking as he is, then not give him the knowledge to use that equipment properly.”
“Get out of my office.” I laugh while pointing at the door, and she giggles, then sobers, her expression turning serious.
“Don’t worry about Julie. Even Eva is constantly having issues with her, and they co-own this place together.”
“Thanks,” I say softly, and she nods before looking around the edge of my door when the bell goes off, telling us someone is here.
“I think that’s your one o’clock. Do you need a few minutes?”
“Yeah, I’ll be out in just a moment. Can you offer her something to drink?”
“Of course.” She smiles before grabbing the handle of my door and pulling it closed behind her.
Dragging in a breath, I then let it out slowly, attempting to put Julie, Bax’s support group, and everything that just happened out of my head.
I have a job to do, and even if things don’t work out for me when it comes to staying at this practice, I still need to build up my clientele list.
* * *
Sitting in the middle of Kourtney’s living room, surrounded by towers of boxes and piles of stuff, I wonder what the hell I was thinking when I decided to take Rebecca’s suggestion and have a company pack my apartment for me instead of doing it all myself. I mean, sure, everything is wrapped securely, and each box was obviously packed with care. But there is bathroom stuff in with bedroom stuff and kitchen stuff in random boxes of clothes, so my plan to just put the boxes for the kitchen and my living room aside to take them to storage has been foiled. Now, I need to go through everything.
When someone knocks, I look at the door, then the clock on the wall. It’s a little after six. Not very late, but still, I’m not expecting anyone. With a quiet groan, I get up from where I’ve been sitting for the past couple of hours and make my way across the room, trying not to trip over the piles of my stuff lying here and there. Thank goodness Kourtney won’t be home for a couple more weeks. I have a feeling if she saw the mess I’ve made of her living room, she would second-guess asking me to move in with her.
When I reach the door, I pull it open just enough to look out, and my insides instantly twist into a nervous knot when I come face-to-face with Bax, who is thankfully fully clothed. Not that he would be outside, wandering around shirtless on a cold October night.
“Uh… hey.” My eyes leave him when the door is jolted toward me, and I look down to find Gemma shoving her head through the small crack so she can greet me. Opening the door for her, I laugh as she bounces at my feet before falling to her back for a belly rub.
“I wanted to bring this back to you,” Bax says, and I look up at him from where I’m now squatting next to his pup. Darn, from this angle, he’s even better-looking, which seemed impossible before now. But then again, from down here, I get the full effect of his sharp jawline.
“I could have gotten it another time.” I stand and take the bag from him.
“How’s the unpacking coming along?” He looks past me into the house, and I glance over my shoulder.
“It’s a process.” I place the bag on one of my dining chairs, which is shoved up against the wall. “Hopefully, with the biggest pieces out of here tomorrow, I’ll feel like I’ve made some headway.”
“Did you get a storage unit?”
“Not yet. I’m going to see what I can fit in Liam’s, then figure out what size space I need.”
He nods, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Have you had dinner?” Before I can answer, he continues, “I got a couple of steaks and was going to put them on the grill. You’re welcome to join me.”
“Umm…” I glance behind me at the mess I’ve made. “I really should sort things out.”
My stomach chooses that moment to make a disappointed rumble loud enough for him to hear.
“Come eat. Everything will still be here when you get back.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip before I let it go. “You’re sure you don’t mind me joining you?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I did.” He keeps a straight face and tone when he says it so it doesn’t come off as grouchy as the words might imply.
“Okay.” I shift on my feet and look down at what I have on. I changed into a pair of biker shorts and a tank when I got home since the heat is on, so I will need to wear something warmer if we’re going to be outside. When my eyes lift to his once again, I would swear he was just checking me out. Heat travels up my chest to my cheeks. “I’ll just change, then I’ll be over.”
“Take your time.” He takes a step back and looks down at Gemma. “Come on, girl.” She hesitates, looking between him and me, but when he taps his thigh, she joins him on the front porch.
“Do you want me to bring anything?”
“Just yourself.”
“Cool.” I step up to the door and grab the frame. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
With a jerk of his chin, he turns away, and I shut the door. I head down the hall to my room, flipping on the light as I walk to my closet and open the door.
If Bax was any other guy I was attracted to, I might wear something cute to show I was interested, but he’s not just some other guy. He’s Bax, my brother’s best friend, who likely only invited me over for dinner out of some weird obligation to Liam. So this evening won’t involve the two of us doing anything more than eating together. Which I refuse to admit is kind of a bummer.
After rummaging through my stuff, I pull out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, then quickly change and slip my feet into my Birkenstock clogs. I leave my room, shutting off the light as I go, then walk down the hall to the kitchen.
Since there is no way I can show up empty-handed, even if he said I don’t need to bring anything, I take the strawberries, mini angel food cakes, and whipped cream I bought today out of the fridge and place it all in the shopping bag still on the counter. With my cell phone tucked in my back pocket and my keys and dessert in hand, I leave through the front door and walk across the driveway to his house.
The closer I get, the more nervous I become. But right when I step onto his front porch, Gemma begins to bark from inside, announcing my arrival, so if I thought about taking a minute to pull myself together before knocking, the decision has been made for me. I also notice that sometime between when I got home from work and now, he or someone else has stacked pumpkins on either side of the door. They are not the traditional bright orange ones you’d pick up at the grocery store. His are pretty, in pale oranges, greens, and cream—something someone with an eye for detail would pick… or maybe it was a woman. With a deep breath, I press the doorbell, and a second later, the door opens.
“Hey,” Bax greets, stepping back to let me inside, and I try to ignore how good he looks in his worn blue jeans and washed-out thermal. With the sleeves pushed up just below his elbows, they give me a peek of the tattoos that cover his arms.
“Hey.” I step out of the way so he can shut the door. His house is warm and smells like him and whatever it is he’s cooking, with soft music floating through the air.
“Let me take that so you can give her some attention before she passes out from excitement,” he mutters, taking the bag from me so I can pet Gemma, who is jumping around at my feet.
“It’s stuff for dessert and should probably go in the fridge,” I tell his back when he walks toward the kitchen doorway, and a second later, I follow.
“Do you want a beer? Or some wine, maybe?”
“Wine sounds good.” I take my cell out of my pocket and put it on the counter with my keys while he pulls down a wineglass from one of the cabinets.
“Red or white?”
“White, please,” I reply, and he nods. I look down at my feet when I feel a warm body bump against me, expecting to see Gemma, but instead, it’s Ira. “Hey, pretty girl.” I bend down to pick her up, and she instantly begins to purr when I have her in the crook of my arm on her back so I can rub beneath her chin. I meet Bax’s gaze when he places the glass on the counter in front of me. “Do you want any help?”
“Nah,” he replies, then walks back across the kitchen to a wine fridge that is built into the cabinets. “The potatoes are in the oven. When they’re done, I’ll throw the steaks on the grill.”
“They smell good.”
“Thanks.” He comes back to me, and I watch, mesmerized as he opens the bottle of wine. I’ve never paid much attention to any man’s hands, but his are big and rough-looking, although his nails are clean and neatly trimmed.
When he slides the glass of wine toward me, I don’t hesitate to pick it up and take a drink, hoping the alcohol will help settle my nerves.
“Do you want to sit outside? I have a fire going in the fireplace.”
“Sure,” I say, and he walks to the back door and opens it for me and Gemma, who was waiting there after obviously hearing the word outside . “Wow.” I step out onto the deck and look around. It’s nicer than I thought it was. “Did you do all this?”There is no hiding the awe in my voice.
His back deck is nicer than some people’s homes. Not only is there a roof, but the openings that would allow you to see into the yard are also covered with dark shades that have trapped the heat coming off the fireplace, where a TV is hung, and a large couch and a few chairs are facing it. The kitchen with a grill on the opposite side is built in an area with a single step down and barstools lining one side, so you can sit there with whoever is cooking.
“Not alone. My brothers, uncles, and cousins all helped.” He goes to the kitchen area and opens a fridge, grabbing a beer before he starts up the grill. “It took us most of last summer to build everything since we worked mostly on the weekends.”
“It’s very cool.” I go over to the couch and take a seat. Gemma hops up onto the cushion next to me, resting her heavy head on my thigh.
“How’s your job going?” He walks over and takes a seat close—but not too close.
“Good. It’s much smaller than where I was in Chicago, but they seem to do a great job with advertising, so we’re pretty busy.” I slide out of my shoes so I can pull my feet up onto the couch and sit cross-legged. Gemma, for her part, adjusts to my new position. “I actually think you might know one of the women I work for.”
His brows drag together. “Who’s that?”
“Julie Wells.”
“Yeah, I know her. We dated a few years back.” There is no softness in his response that indicates he still harbors feelings for her.
I merely nod. I don’t know how to respond or why I felt the need to bring Julie up. Maybe just for confirmation that she’s his type and they have a history.
I take another sip of wine. The silence that settles around us is not comfortable; it’s heavy and awkward. If this were a date, I would send an SOS to a friend and make up some excuse to leave—something I don’t feel like I can do in this situation.
“How about those Titans?” I ask finally, cutting through the tension, and he burst out laughing, his head falling back to his shoulders for a moment.
“They suck,” he mutters, still chuckling before taking a drink of his beer.
“Didn’t I see their sticker on your truck?”
“You did, and they are my team. But that doesn’t change the fact that they suck.”
“Fair enough.” I smile, pressing my wineglass to my lips.
“I almost didn’t let you inside my house with that shit on.” I look down to see what I have on and realize I’m wearing my Chicago Bears sweatshirt. Something I got years ago when I moved to Chicago and went to my first game with Rebecca, whose family has a box at the stadium. I had never gone to a football game before then, and after that one, I would go with her family any time they extended an invite.
“You’d refuse me entry into your house because my football team is better than yours?”
“The Bears aren’t better than the Titans.”
“Whatever you say,” I smirk, and he grins, leaning back and putting his feet up on the low stone table centered between all the seating. “I’m surprised you’re not out with Liam tonight.”
“I can’t keep up with your brother anymore. His social life is exhausting.”
“You’re not also trying to see if you can sleep with every woman in Middle Tennessee before you’re forty?”
He laughs. “No. But why aren’t you out with him?”
My nose scrunches. “Partying isn’t really my thing.”
“What is your thing?”
“Reading, watching bad reality TV, and the occasional drink with a girlfriend.”
“You still read?”
“All the time.” I smile, remembering when he used to tease me about how my nose was always stuck in a book. “What’s your thing?”
“I don’t have time for much besides work.”
“I believe that. Liam sent me that write-up done by Stan Miller in Million-Dollar Home Magazine .”
“Did he?”
“Yes, and I have to tell you—what you guys have accomplished is pretty amazing. You should be proud of yourselves,” I say quietly.
“Thanks.” He shifts like he’s uncomfortable with the praise, then his attention goes to the back door when something starts to ding inside the kitchen.
“That’s the potatoes.” He pushes up to stand, placing his beer on the table.
“Do you want some help?” I tip my head back to look up at him when he starts to walk past me.
“No, stay and drink your wine. I’ll be right back out with the steaks.” I watch him walk into the house, leaving Gemma and me alone. I focus on the fire burning and run my fingers through Gemma’s fur when she moves her head to my lap.
When he returns, he’s carrying a plastic container and a pair of tongs. After he puts the steaks on the grill, he approaches me but doesn’t move to sit down. His eyes go to my glass. “Do you want a refill?”
“Sure.” I pass it to him, and he takes it inside, coming back out less than a minute later with the glass full.
“Do you have any plans for Halloween?” he asks, going to the grill after handing me my wine. I do some quick mental math, realizing that Halloween is Monday, just a few days away. I mean, I should have realized that with all the decorations out everywhere.
“I honestly haven’t thought about it. Back in Chicago, I lived in an apartment building, and there weren’t many kids. Or the kids who did live there normally left and went somewhere else. Does this neighborhood get slammed?”
“Yes, but that’s because the people who lived here before me started the tradition of passing out full-size candy bars, and I don’t want to let the kids down. My siblings all bring my nieces and nephews over, and while we walk the neighborhood, my parents pass out candy. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Do you dress up?”
He turns his head to meet my gaze over his shoulder, sending me a look that says, “What do you think?”
“Never mind.” I laugh.
“You can if you want. The girls normally do.”
“Okay, that might be fun.” I get up and walk to where he is, and he pulls out one of the barstools for me. “Thanks.”
He nods, then studies me. “Tell me about your job. What exactly do you do?”
“I’m an aesthetic nurse practitioner.” He raises a brow, and I smile. “I basically help women look the best version of themselves without having to have surgery.” I shake my head. “I guess that was kind of sexist. I also have clients who are men—or I did before I moved.”
“So, like Botox and shit?”
“Yes, but it’s more than that. There is an art to it. Like when you renovate a house, you don’t just rip the old house down. You take the house that’s already there and make it more appealing to anyone driving by. There are people who do what I do and just…” I pause, looking for the right words. “And I guess they kind of overdo it when they get someone in their chair because they are looking at the money they can make off that client rather than truly looking at that client.
“Like, not every house needs a complete remodel. Maybe it just needs a couple of coats of paint and new windows. I find that most women look more beautiful when they don’t get rid of every single wrinkle or when they have more natural lips than the fuller ones just because they are the trend right now. I want women to look like themselves, not some plumped-up version of who they are. Unless that is what they actually want, because there are some who do feel better with a full face of ’tox and filler, and who am I to tell them they shouldn’t?” I snap my mouth shut, realizing I’ve been rambling. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re passionate about what you do. I can appreciate that, and I now actually get why women, like my mom and aunts, go to the spa and have needles shoved into their faces.”
“It’s a little more than just having needles shoved into your face.” I laugh, and he smiles.
“You know what I mean. I guess I just didn’t understand it before.”
“A lot of people don’t, and even though things have changed over the years, there is still a stigma around women getting Botox and filler. It’s something that, outside of a group of girlfriends who also get injectables, you don’t talk about.”
“Did you always want to go into that area of nursing?”
“No. When I graduated and became an RN, I got a job at a hospital, working in the pediatric ICU, which had been my goal all along. I did that job for about a year before I had to leave. I couldn’t handle the sadness I took home with me every night.” I shake my head. “There is nothing worse than seeing parents living out their worst nightmare and feeling heartsick because you can’t guarantee them that things will be okay.”
“I imagine that’s hard.”
“It is, and I have nothing but respect for the people who do that job. I just couldn’t, so I started looking into different areas of nursing. I had a friend who worked as an aesthetician, and I would get facials and things from her. Her boss came in one day and started asking me about work and told me that I should go back and get my PRN but specialize in aesthetics. I went home that night, started doing some research, and three months later, I was signed back up for school. I’ve been doing it ever since, and now I can’t imagine having another job.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Thanks.”
He smiles, then looks behind me at the couch. “Do you want to eat out here or inside?”
“I’m good out here if you are.”
The smile he gives me is filled with approval. “You wanna come help me get plates together while I let the steaks rest a minute?”
“Sure.” I leave my wine behind, and the two of us go inside. On the counter is a glass dish covered with foil, and he pulls a bowl of salad out of the fridge. When he said he made potatoes, I assumed that he just put some potatoes in the oven to bake, but what I find is that he made potato au gratin, and it looks delicious and smells even better when he removes the foil.
I wash my hands, then both of us load up our plates and take them back outside, where he puts a steak on my plate and then the other on his. Once we are both sitting on the couch, I dig in. The salad, a classic Caesar, is amazing. The steak is tender and perfectly seasoned, and the potatoes are so good I want to take what’s left home with me.
As we eat, we talk about his family and all his nieces and nephews, and when we finish, we take our plates inside and clean up a little before getting comfortable on the couch outside once more—me with another glass of wine, him with another beer. The dessert I brought is still in the fridge because we are both too stuffed to eat any more.
As the evening continues, the quiet hum of music plays through the speakers overhead, golden light sparkles from the fireplace, and we talk like we haven’t known each other for years. It isn’t until I happen to glance at the clock on the wall outside much later that I realize he and I have been together for hours, and it’s almost eleven at night.
“You gotta go?” he prompts, obviously seeing the time himself and registering how late it is.
“Yeah.” I don’t even attempt to disguise the disappointment in my voice. “My dad is going to be over in the morning around eleven, and I still have to clean up.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know it was so late.” He gets up with me and takes my wineglass, tossing his beer bottles into a recycle bin outside before opening the door for me to enter the house before him.
When we step into the kitchen, I look around. We cleaned up most of the stuff from dinner earlier. Or I supervised him putting our plates and things into the dishwasher, leaving only a pan in the sink and the container he used to marinate the steaks in on the counter.
“Do you need help with anything before I go?”
“I’ve got it.” He walks back to me. “Do you have all your stuff?”
“Yeah.” I pick up my keys and my phone from the counter and follow him to the living room, where Ira is sleeping on the back of the couch. “Thanks for having me over. It was fun.” I smile up at him when he opens the door, but he shakes his head.
“I’m walking you home, Oli.”
“I’m just next door.”
“Yep,” he agrees. Stepping out onto the porch, he waits until both Gemma and I are outside before closing the door behind us.
The nervousness I felt earlier in the evening comes back in full force as we walk side by side to Kourtney’s. And even knowing this was not a date and that there will be no good night kiss, I still feel that rush of excitement and anticipation like it’s a possibility the closer we get.
When we reach Kourtney’s house, I step up onto the porch while he stays on the walkway below me, with Gemma between us. “Night, Bax.”
“Night, Oli,” he mutters quietly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Not wanting to make things awkward, I unlock my door, then turn to give him a smile before I shut it. I slide the lock into place, resting my forehead against the door.
I finally get what Holly told me earlier today. With Bax just looking like he does and being so cool and interesting, I imagine that if he’s invited women to his house, cooked for them, and let them experience all that is him —and those times being while he was likely trying to sleep with them—they would need a support group when things ended. After spending just one evening with him, I think I should join their group as a preventive measure.