19. Oliver
Cala Saint-Clair rests beside me.
We don’t talk much—just a few quiet words here and there—but inside the silence, all I feel is peace.
No urge to leave.
No need to rush back to the lonely life waiting on the other side of this moment.
Something new has taken root inside me.
For the first time in years, the walls I built have lowered, just enough for me to breathe her in, to enjoy what she brings into my life.
It’s strange how someone so different from me, so damn opposite, can pull me in like this—make me crazy with curiosity, burn me alive with desire.
She’s color.
I’m gray.
And yet somehow, together, we make sense.
A few minutes ago, I was lying in my own bed, her scent still clinging to my pillow from the night she pulled me out of a nightmare.
And then, before I even knew what I was doing, I was standing at her door.
I wanted to see her.
Talk to her.
Know her.
Things I can’t admit out loud, not even to myself.
I should probably call Kill, tell him what’s happening before this turns into something I can’t undo.
Because as good as this feels, I know how these stories end.
But for now, I shut that thought down and breathe her in again, her scent, her warmth, the soft sound of her breathing and I bury my face against her neck, feeding on the quiet and on her, like she’s the only thing keeping me alive.
“What are your plans for the weekend?” I ask. It’s Friday night, her last day working here.
“Probably reading and eating,” she says with a small, adorable laugh.
I like her honesty.
There’s a book on her nightstand—the only one we managed to save. It’s worn out, clearly well-loved, probably read a dozen times. Thick, with a yellow cover. I can’t read the title from here, and honestly, getting farther away from her is the last thing I want to do.
“I was thinking about using my outdoor kitchen,” I say after a beat. “Maybe having a barbecue with your parents.”
Cala glances at me from the corner of her eye, one brow lifted.
“Wow. We’re already there, huh?”
I prop myself up on one elbow to look at her better. My cheeks feel hot as hell, and I instantly regret opening my mouth. I don’t want to scare her off, but I also don’t want her to know how much of an idiot I feel right now.
“No, I just meant… I wanted to use it and—”
“Hey,” she cuts in softly, smiling, “you don’t have to explain. If there’s food, I’m there.”
I grin, satisfied.
“Great. I’ve never actually used it before.”
Then I lie back beside her, trying like hell to slow down the pounding in my chest.
I like that we’re both almost half-naked.
Almost, because her breasts are still tucked away behind that bra, but honestly, the real discovery of the day it’s the tattoo.
A delicate line of stars and moons winding along her arm, and I can’t look away.
“How did I not see this in the barn?” I murmur, tracing the air just above her skin.
“There wasn’t much time, I think.”
The mischievous look in her eyes makes me smile and sends a strange twist straight to my stomach.
“Fair point,” I admit, remembering how I’d taken control of our bodies that night, driven by fear and adrenaline and something that still burns in me.
“Do you have any tattoos?” she asks.
“No. Too permanent for me,” I say. “My brother Killian does, though. Lost count of how many.”
Now she props herself up on one elbow, studying me in that curious way she has like she’s trying to read between the lines of everything I say.
“You should invite your brothers,” she says softly. “Use that barbecue with them. Show them the place you call home.”
“But it’s you I want to share it with,” I tell her, my eyes tracing the curve of her lips as my fingers move gently through her hair.
I can’t keep my hands off her.
“We shouldn’t replace your family, Oliver,” she says, her voice a whisper that lands right where it hurts. “Call them. You’ve got enough rooms for everyone, even with us here. Who knows, maybe a noisy house is exactly what you need.”
I’ve got my phone in my hands, sitting alone in the office, staring at the damn thing like it’s a drink I can’t swallow.
Thanksgiving’s coming up, and I thought it might be a good idea to invite my brothers.
Well—I didn’t really think that.
Cala did.
But something’s stopping me.
A kind of paralysis I didn’t think I still had.
It’s like when addicts say they can quit anytime they want, but when the moment comes, they lose their minds.
Yeah. That’s me right now.
I thought I had a dozen reasons not to call them, but now that I actually should… I’m frozen.
“They’re my brothers, for God’s sake. I shouldn’t feel like this,” I mutter, opening our group chat.
The cursor blinks at me, waiting for me to type something. Anything.
But my fingers won’t move.
That old rush of adrenaline kicks in—the one I know too damn well—and I do the only thing I know how to do when panic creeps up on me.
“Vascular plants. Lycopods, horsetails, ferns. Seed plants. Gymnosperms: cycads, ginkgo, conifers. Flowering plants or angiosperms: monocots and dicots…”
A message pops up on the screen.
Cala Saint-Clair: Do it.
“How the hell does she know?” I mutter, typing a reply.
Last night, when I left her bed, I came up with some lame excuse to ask for her number, something work-related, of course.
We both knew it was bullshit.
Still, I wonder if she wanted my number for the same reason I wanted hers, so she could reach me even when I’m not home.
Oliver: I was just about to, and you interrupted me.
Cala Saint-Clair: Prove it, or I won’t believe you.
Damn it.
I close Cala’s chat and switch back to the group with my brothers.
Oliver: Hi. Good morning.
No. Too formal.
Hey, do you guys have plans for Thanksgiving?
Silas: No.
Luca: No idea.
Killian: Friendsgiving.
Silas: Why?
Shit.
Now I actually have to invite them.
Prove it or I won’t believe you.
Prove it or I won’t believe you.
Oliver: I was thinking about the kids—maybe you’d like to come visit the ranch?
They’ve all seen the message.
No one’s replying.
Knew it.
Bad idea.
I let Cala talk me into this, but she doesn’t know my brothers the way I do. She still believes we’re some kind of close, functional family.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
I’ll make sure she hears it when I get home, no more taking advice from—
Silas: Julian’s bouncing around the house with excitement.
Luca: I think it’s a great idea.
Killian: Not fair! Now I have to cancel my plans and show up too.
I stare at the screen as their messages roll in, talking about plans, making jokes about spending a week living like cowboys.
A half-smile creeps onto my face, disbelief curling in my chest.
“Damn it,” I mutter, thinking of Cala and her magic.
The laugh starts quiet but ends loud, breaking free from somewhere deep in my chest, releasing everything I didn’t know I’d been holding.
The door to my office swings open. My assistant walks in with one eyebrow raised.
“Mr. Walker, is everything all right?”
She must think I’ve finally lost it. She’s never seen me laugh.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, brushing it off. “You can go, Gina.”
She leaves, but I can still see her watching me through the glass.
Luca’s right, getting tinted windows would be the best investment I ever make.
Without thinking twice, I hit call.
Cala picks up on the fourth ring.
“Mr. Walker,” she says in that serious tone of hers.
If she knew what that does to me, she wouldn’t say it like that.
“I invited them,” I blurt.
“And?”
Through the phone, I can hear the birds in the field, the cows, the wind pushing against the mic.
My body aches to be there.
“They said yes. All three of them.”
My voice stays calm, but my chest is pure chaos.
“I told you, Oliver!” she shouts. I can hear her smile. She’s happy for me.
And that’s… new.
I’ve always been terrible at making connections, especially after what happened. But with her, it feels different.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “You did tell me.”
Thank you, I want to say.
Thank you for pushing me.
But my mouth stays shut, and my heart won’t stop racing.
When I get to the ranch, Eliza’s waiting for me in the kitchen, smiling, the mixer running while something that looks like whipped cream spins inside.
Astro jumps up, tail wagging, happy to see me, and I scratch behind his ears.
“Cala told me everything!” she says, almost giddy. “I’m so excited. I already have the menu planned. Do you think your brothers have any allergies?”
I drop my things on the counter—my phone, a few papers I’ll have to read later—and give her a half-smile.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Eliza?” I ask.
She walks over and hugs me. It’s the first time she’s ever done that, and for a second my body stiffens, but I let her. She barely reaches my chest, so I have to bend a little.
“I’m so happy for you,” she whispers. “And I like what Cala’s doing to you. I have big plans for you two.”
I pull back immediately.
“Plans?”
With her fingertip, she pushes my chest like I’m being ridiculous.
“Don’t play dumb with me. I see the way you look at her.”
“We’re… friends,” I say, tasting the word. It feels strange in my mouth.
Friends with benefits, maybe. Friends who touch each other and actually like it.
Nothing more.
Right?
The idea of a future with Cala feels terrifying, unprofessional, and exhilarating.
“How many people should I plan for, Oliver?” Eliza asks, turning back to her task. She stops the mixer, lifts a spoonful of cream, watching to see if gravity wins. Satisfied, she taps the spoon three times against the bowl.
“I mean, Thanksgiving’s still three weeks away,” I grumble, staring out the window toward the fields, looking for her.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says, still talking, still planning.
But I’m not listening anymore. I’ve spotted her, out by the horses. She’s talking to them, waving her arms as if they can understand.
A smile creeps across my face.
She looks so alive here. So free in a place she’s made her own.
Eliza clears her throat. When I turn back, she’s got her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I say quickly. “Just… making sure she’s doing her job right.”
Before she can respond, I whistle for Astro and head toward my room.