Chapter 2 #2
“She was loud about it,” Olive says with a watery smile. “Everything had to have sparkle or denim or both. You should’ve seen what she wore to our eighth-grade graduation. Tried to get me to match. Like we were Britney and Justin, circa 2001.”
“I wish I could’ve met her.”
“She would’ve loved you. She had a nose for bullshit and loyalty. You two would’ve been instant friends. Probably would've ganged up on me.”
“Definitely would have,” I say, nudging her.
Olive’s smile falters. “I spent so long trying to be the one who didn’t fall apart. After she died, I just held everything. For my parents. For myself. For what was left.”
“And then Liam,” I say gently.
“And then Liam.”
The air settles into stillness. Like dusk curling into the corners of the room.
“I don’t know what he’s doing, Olive,” I say.
“I don’t know why he hasn’t come after you.
But I do know he’s miserable. And so are you.
But even if he never comes,” I add, “you’ll still have something beautiful.
You’ve already made something beautiful.
That’s what Opal would’ve seen. Not just what you lost—but what you’re still building. ”
Tears fill her eyes. “I’m so scared.”
“Then be scared,” I say. “And keep going anyway. You have to. We both do.”
Our paths are different. She’s navigating motherhood alone. I’m learning how to stand on my own two feet for the first time in what feels like forever.
But the truth is the same.
We’re both walking forward.
Even if the road’s a little broken beneath us.
“Come on. Let’s go eat,” Olive says gently.
“I’ll be right there.”
Once she’s gone, I sit on the edge of the bed and pull out my phone. My thumb hovers for a beat before I scroll through the camera roll and find the clearest shot from the ultrasound.
Then I open a new message.
Liam Stone
>
Here’s the latest ultrasound of your kids, you dumbass. They’re healthy and thriving while you’re busy self-destructing.
PS – Olive is fine, too.
He doesn’t deserve to know. Not really.
But maybe—maybe—this will be enough to get him off his sorry ass and go after the woman he loves.
I don’t expect a reply. And I don’t get one.
Not from him, anyway.
But the next morning, I get a message that stops me cold.
Will Flowers
Hey. Heard you’re with Olive.
I am. Why are you up so early?
I’m with Liam. We’re coming up with a plan for him to win Olive back.
I need your help.
I stare at the message, heart doing something weird and traitorous in my chest.
My help?
Can’t do it without you, kiddo.
And there it is.
Kiddo.
I swear to God, I almost throw my phone across the damn room but I’m a god damn adult.
What do you need?
Later that morning, I find Ora in the kitchen folding laundry and fill her in on the plan.
She sighs like it’s the best news she’s heard all year. “Oh, it’s about time! Do you think she’ll go for it?”
“I’m going to try to talk to her,” I say. “But if it doesn’t go well can you step in?”
“I can.” She grins. “This is so romantic.”
Yeah.
So romantic.
Too bad the other person orchestrating it thinks I’m just a kid.
But I do what any friend would do, and I convince Olive to go back to Broken Heart Creek. Once she agrees, I drop the next bombshell. We leave tonight.
The first “date” Liam sets up is meant to recreate the night he met Olive.
Obviously, he’s not about to ask her to enter a wet t-shirt contest again. He might be dumb, but he’s not suicidal. So instead, he settles on neutral ground.
Will’s bar.
I bite back a groan as I pull into the parking lot.
Of course it’s here. But this isn’t about me.
It’s about Olive. So I hand her the folded white T-shirt Liam requested and force a smile as I lead her inside.
The second we step through the door, one of Sam’s songs is playing on the jukebox. Totally unplanned but weirdly perfect.
I point across the room. “Our table’s over there.”
We sit. I grab the glass of water waiting for me and nod toward the ginger ale in front of Olive. Will had it ready, just like I asked. Her morning sickness’s been hell lately.
Olive glances around, suspicious but amused. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say, trying not to sound as rehearsed as I feel. “You’re just home.”
Right on cue, the song changes. It’s the same song that was playing the night they met. And then I see Liam heading toward us with his heart in his throat and nerves all over his face.
I scoot out of the way just before he reaches the table, giving them space.
Over the next thirty minutes, I sit and sip my water and watch them try to piece together what fell apart. It’s not magic, not instant. There’s still tension. Still hesitation.
But Liam’s trying.
Really trying.
And for once, I think he might finally be ready to pull his head out of his ass and do something that matters.
When Liam finally walks off after securing a second date, Olive excuses herself to the bathroom.
The moment she’s gone, Will approaches like he’s been waiting for the opening.
“Good job, kiddo.”
I snort before I can stop it, lifting my glass and muttering into it, “Jesus.”
“What?” he asks, brows pulling together. “You don’t think it went well?”
“Oh, I think it went perfectly well, old man.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
I cock my head, lips curling. “Well, if I’m a kid, then I guess that makes you an old man. Not old enough to be a grandfather,” I add sweetly, “but definitely father material.”
His eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of something else there too—amusement? Intrigue? Maybe even interest, not that he’ll admit it.
A wicked idea crosses my mind.
I lean in slightly, lowering my voice just enough to make it feel like a secret. “Tell me, Will. Do you call everyone ‘kiddo,’ or just the women you want to keep at arm’s length?”
He doesn’t answer right away. And in that beat of silence? I know I’ve hit a nerve.
I lean in just a little closer, my voice low and laced with wickedness. “Don’t worry, Daddy. It’ll be our little secret.”
The word lands like a spark in a dry field. And just like that, something shifts between us.
Sharp. Hot. Dangerous.
“Phern,” Will says, voice low.
But before either of us can react—
“Hey,” Olive says, reappearing beside the table.
She looks tired, worn around the edges. Her hand drifts to her stomach, protectively. I snap back into myself.
I stand. “Let’s get you home.”
I don’t look back at Will. Not even once.