Chapter 5 - OLIVE
OLIVE
Looking for a Beard
The morning air is cool and bright.
I walk the familiar path toward the kindergarten with my coffee in one hand and a stack of laminated name tags tucked under my arm. Beside me, Nina adjusts her sunglasses and nudges me with her elbow.
“You’ve been suspiciously quiet this whole time,” she says. “Which means either you murdered someone or you kissed someone. Spill.”
I choke on my coffee. “Wow. Zero warm-up?”
Nina grins. “Come on. I know you. Something happened—I can feel it in my teacher bones.”
I hesitate, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. “Well, I didn’t murder anyone,” I mutter.
Nina stops so abruptly a jogger nearly barrels into her. “So you did kiss someone?!”
“Can we not do this in front of the juice bar?” I hiss, dragging her away from the forming line.
“Who?” she demands, planting herself in front of me. “Tell me everything. Immediately.”
I take a steadying breath. “His name is Ash.”
She squints. “Ash…? I don’t know any Ash.”
“You’ve never met him,” I say. “He’s Liam’s best friend.”
Nina blinks. “Liam has a best friend named Ash?”
I blink back. “I was just as clueless. My brother is full of surprises.”
“Well, maybe if he actually posted on social media instead of ghosting for months at a time, I’d know who his best friend is.”
I exhale. “But wait. It gets better. His full name is Ash Ryder.”
Nothing.
Then—
Her eyes widen like someone just plugged her into a power outlet.
“Wait. The Ash Ryder?”
I nod slowly.
“As in rockstar Ash Ryder? ‘Fire Season’ Ash Ryder? Moody jawline, infamous leather jacket?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the ‘p.’
Nina stares at me like I just announced I kissed the Loch Ness Monster.
“You kissed Ash Ryder?!”
“In my brother’s apartment. After accidentally flashing him. Long story.”
“Oh my god.”
“I know.”
“No, like—OH MY GOD. Olive. What are you doing?!”
I laugh weakly. “I genuinely have no idea.”
We keep walking. Or at least, I do. Nina’s still flailing and whisper-yelling beside me.
“He’s your brother’s best friend,” she hisses. “And he’s a celebrity. And you didn’t know?!”
“I had no idea. Liam never said a word.”
Nina makes a strangled noise. “This is amazing. It’s insane. It’s like fanfiction—but real life.”
“I know,” I groan.
“And the kiss?” she asks, eyes gleaming.
“He kissed like he wanted to wreck my entire worldview,” I say dreamily.
Nina hoots with laughter.
By the time we reach the front steps of the school, she is still buzzing like she drank her weight in espresso.
“I’m just saying,” she whispers as we push through the front door, “anyone who gets kissed by Ash Ryder and doesn’t immediately combust from lust is probably made of stone.”
“Shhh!” I hiss, juggling my tote bag and the container of laminated name tags.
“What?” she shrugs. “You literally said he kissed you like he wanted to wreck your whole worldview. I’m just repeating your words.”
We’re met by a stampede of small limbs and enthusiastic shouts.
“MISS HART!”
“MISS HART, I MADE A TURTLE OUT OF CLAY!”
“LOOK AT MY SOCKS, THEY HAVE SPACESHIPS!”
“I ACCIDENTALLY ATE A CRAYON!”
I crouch down with a laugh as three kindergartners attach themselves to my legs like barnacles. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Good morning! One at a time or I’m going to fall and flatten your turtle.”
Nina ducks into her own classroom across the hall, still smirking at me like she’s the devil in Target flats. “Wrecked. Your. Worldview,” she mouths dramatically before vanishing.
And of course—
Of course—
A small voice behind me says, “Miss Hart? What’s a worldview?”
I turn slowly.
It’s Clara. Sweet, precocious Clara with her purple glitter headband and a knack for absorbing adult conversations like a human sponge.
I freeze. “Uh—well. It’s like… how you see the world.”
“Oh.” She tilts her head. “So if someone wrecks it, do you fall down?”
“Emotionally? Yes,” I say before I can stop myself.
Another kid, James, pipes up. “My worldview got wrecked when I found out giraffes have black tongues.”
“That’s fair,” I say solemnly. “That is very upsetting.”
Clara nods. “Mine got wrecked when I saw Mr. Grayson at Target buying toilet paper.”
The whole class gasps. “WHAT?!”
“Teachers don’t use the bathroom!” one of them cries.
“I need to sit down,” another moans, clutching their chest dramatically.
“Okay, okay,” I laugh, herding them toward the rug like a cowboy wrangling very small, very dramatic cattle.
“Let’s all take a deep breath and remember: today is Friday.
And on Fridays, we do story time, we do counting bears, and we do not talk about giraffe tongues or emotional crises in the hallway. ”
“But what if my worldview gets wrecked again?” James asks seriously.
“Then you can draw about it with crayons during free play,” I say, ruffling his hair.
He thinks for a second, then nods like I’ve said something deeply wise.
***
It’s during nap time—aka the sacred hour of silence when the lights are dimmed, lullabies hum through the speakers, and every adult in the building collectively exhales for the first time all day.
I’m crouched beside a cubby, trying to unjam a glitter-glued zipper from one of the kids’ backpacks without waking anyone, when my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
One buzz.
Then another.
I frown, tug it out, and see a text from a number I don’t recognize.
Unknown:
Hey. It’s Ash. Got your number from Liam. Mind if I swing by later tonight? Want to talk to you and your brother about something.
I freeze.
My heart actually skips like it’s trying to catch up to what my brain already knows.
Ash. Ash.
Just his name on my screen makes the air feel heavier, sharper. The memory of his mouth on mine flashes like it’s imprinted in my nerve endings. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it—about him. And now he’s texting me?
My thumb hovers over the screen for a solid ten seconds.
This could be anything.
It could be nothing.
But the way he said “you and your brother” makes something twist in my chest. Professional. Detached. Like he’s already categorizing what happened between us as a blip. A thing to gloss over.
Still... the idea of seeing him again sends a little thrill through me. Something electric and dangerous.
I type back quickly, before I can second-guess myself:
Olive:
Sure. What time?
A moment later, his reply buzzes back:
Ash:
Around eight?
I swallow hard and reply:
Olive:
That works. See you then.
I slide my phone face-down on the table beside me and sit back on my heels, trying to look calm. Chill. Entirely unbothered.
***
I am none of those things and by the time Ash knocks on the apartment door, I’ve changed outfits twice and yelled at my hair in the mirror like it personally betrayed me. I finally settled on leggings and a sweater—comfortable, neutral, impossible to read into. Hopefully.
Liam opens the door with his usual one-hand wave. “Hey, man. Come in.”
Ash steps inside like he owns the air in the room. Calm. Collected. Dressed in black and smelling faintly of leather and something rich I can’t name.
I forgot how hot this man is. Tall enough to make rooms feel smaller, shoulders filling doorways, the line of his throat doing scandalous things to a T-shirt. Veins map his forearms, tattoos curling between them. And his eyes—cobalt blue, impossible to look away from.
I tell myself not to look at his mouth. I fail. Full, sensual lips I can’t stop imagining back on mine.
His gaze catches mine, pulling me out of my head. “Hey, Hart.”
“Ryder,” I say, aiming for nonchalance and landing somewhere between “wheeze” and “robot glitch.”
We sit.
Ash takes the armchair. I curl into the far end of the couch with a mug of tea. Liam grabs a beer from the fridge and sits across from Ash, totally at ease.
I am not at ease.
Because every time Ash moves, I remember his hand on my waist. His breath on my cheek. The way he kissed me like he was memorizing my mouth.
He, of course, looks like none of that happened.
Professional. Focused.
Fine.
Two can play that game.
“So,” Liam says, cracking the can open. “What’s this mysterious meeting about?”
Ash leans forward, forearms braced on his knees. His voice is steady. No nonsense.
“Look,” he says. “I need to fix my public image. Fast. You know about the lawsuit. The headlines.”
Liam nods, expression tightening.
Ash turns to me now, eyes direct. “And you need money.”
My grip on my mug tightens.
He doesn’t say it cruelly. Just... as a fact. Like something we all already know and don’t need to pretend about.
“I’m offering a solution,” he continues. “You need stability. I need credibility. A fake marriage gets us both what we want.”
I blink. “A what?”
“Marriage,” Ash repeats, like it’s a perfectly reasonable suggestion.
“Real on paper. Only the three of us would know it’s not real.
Contracted. One year. We live together. Go public.
Do the photos, the interviews, the ‘aww, they’re so in love’ thing.
Then we part ways and you walk away with more money than most people make in five years. ”
I almost choke on my tea.
Liam laughs. “Okay, hilarious. Seriously though, what’s the plan?”
Ash doesn’t laugh.
Liam stops.
His smile fades. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” Ash says. “I’ve already drafted terms.”
I stare at him, heart hammering, mind racing.
Because this is insane. Utterly unhinged.
And yet…
Liam is blinking.
Processing.
Mouth open, mid-beer sip.
Then—“Wait. Hold on.”
Uh-oh.
He turns to Ash, pointing his can at him like a weapon. “You want to marry my sister?”
“It’s not a real, real marriage,” Ash says calmly. “It’s just for optics. PR.”
“And you,” Liam says, rounding on me now, “would you want to fake marry the guy who once got kicked out of a hotel for sword-fighting with mic stands?”
I open my mouth.
I do not have an answer to that.
Because, to be fair… I didn’t know about the sword-fighting. That’s new.
“I mean, he seems more stable now?” I offer weakly.