Chapter 15 #2
She decided to enjoy the moment and let her eyes close, her head resting against the back of the couch, sinking into the warm comfort that was a belly full of pasta, a familiar movie in a dark room, and the sound of somebody taking care of her.
Suddenly, something pulled at her side, and she jolted instinctively, clutching at AB’s shoulder. Luca was gently pulling AB up to take her to bed.
“Sorry,” she said, blinking awake.
The menu screen of the DVD blinked back at her. They must have been out for a little while. She rubbed a hand over her tired eyes.
“It’s fine,” he whispered. AB grumbled in her sleep as he bundled her, blanket and all, up against his shoulder.
Now she realized why Luca had the forethought to have AB go get into her pajamas at the start of the movie.
He quietly carried AB up the stairs. Olivia let her eyes close as she suffered another wave of crush-induced whole-body goosebumps of lust.
Good dads were so…
Fucking…
Hot.
She stretched and realized she should probably leave. Luca softly came down the stairs as she turned off the TV.
“How long was I out?” She yawned.
“From the seventh song onward. AB had a great time. You made her week.”
“Ugh, how is your couch so comfortable? I don’t want to leave.” She leaned over to the pillow Luca had used under his neck and huffed it.
Yes, more. Into my veins, cedar-scented dopamine.
He walked in with two glasses from the kitchen and a bottle of whiskey. He looked at her with the raised bottle and arched an eyebrow in question.
“I sat through Frozen. What do you think?”
A smile grew on his face as he gave her a healthy pour.
The spice of the whiskey warmed her tongue. Alone time with Luca.
And whiskey.
What could go wrong?
She realized just how little she knew about him. “What made you move to Fairwick Falls?”
“Why do I do anything?” he said with a sly smile, tipping his glass.
They both answered “Annabelle” at the same time.
“The Elliotsville school wouldn’t accommodate her food allergy, so we had to look for a place that would. I knew she’d be an only child and I wanted her to have friends at school. Enter the only town I’ve ever known to have monthly festivals.”
“My mother is a menace.” She laughed into her cup. “She’s responsible for half of them. Barbershop Quartet Fest, Hot to Turkey Trot Fest, not to mention the Valentine’s Day date auction for the food bank that has really gotten out of hand. There was a fistfight last time.”
“I know. They were fighting over me,” he said uncomfortably, adjusting his shirt.
She cackled into her whiskey. “No way.” She was shocked. “Did you really pick up Margie and Beulah at the same time to pull them apart?”
He smiled into his cup as he sipped. “A gentleman never fistfights and tells. I like your mom a lot.”
Oh god, he’s perfect. Please say something terrible or reveal a mansplain-y personality flaw so I don’t upend my life for you.
“And Pop too,” he added. “He was always so careful with AB’s allergy. His diner was the only place I trusted. What about your dad?”
“My parents divorced when I was little, and then I didn’t really see my dad until I went to live with him in Philadelphia as a teenager.”
Luca took a melancholy sip from his glass. “You wanted to leave all of this small-town life behind?”
“No”—she shrugged—“I wanted to be a professional dancer…anywhere. And at sixteen, I started my internship. So. That was the best place to do it.”
“Did you miss out on all the teenage stuff?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I went to a few homecoming dances. I had my fill of it by my sophomore year. I was ready to go to the big city and be a big success. Joke’s on me.” She laughed, flouncing her hands out as if to indicate she knew how ridiculous that was.
She took a big sip of the whiskey and stared at a spot on the carpet, realizing something.
“It’s more that I missed out on my college years.
Figuring out who I am. I had to decide when I was AB’s age whether I wanted to go after being a professional.
So…I don’t know. I never considered what if that wasn’t what I wanted forever. ”
He shifted on the couch. “Maybe that’s what this time is for, you know? If you don’t love the dancing part.”
She lolled her head back and forth in indecision. “I don’t hate it.”
“Olivia…What do your friends call you?”
“Olivia…?” she said slowly. “I’ve always liked Liv, though.”
“Okay, then, Liv.” He shifted in his seat and looked right at her, his head resting on the back of the couch inches from hers.
A little sparkling burst in her chest, and she swallowed a smile. “Yes?”
“You were crying in my arms the other night. That didn’t seem super happy.”
“No,” Olivia sighed out. “But admitting defeat means I’m defeated.”
“What do you really want?” He had the audacity to ask her that, looking kissable and handsome in a dark, cozy room.
You. On a silver platter.
Naked.
In a king-size bed.
“Are you happy?” she asked him instead.
He bit his lip, considering her question. “I’ve been happier in the last month.” He clinked his glass to hers and leaned back on the couch, propping his feet up.
She leaned back against the couch and propped her feet up to match him. They sat side by side, slouched down into the couch. “Because you’re moving your shop?”
“…Yeah,” he said finally.
She set her mostly full glass on the coffee table to avoid any achy practice tomorrow.
She settled back into the couch, letting herself enjoy the scent of him, the heat of him running along one side of her body. How it kept building into a thumping ache between her legs.
He fiddled with the plastic tiara in his lap; it looked comically tiny in his big hands. Luca was a big guy, and his hands looked like they could destroy her in the best way possible.
“You have nice hands,” she said as she clinked her plastic tiara to his.
“Yeah?” He turned his hand over. “Even with all the tattoos and the shop scars?”
She took his hand in both of hers, examining it, turning it forward and back.
Tattoos ran along his wrists and hands. Each knuckle had a letter of Annabelle on it, with a heart on his last pinky.
“Especially with the tattoos and scars,” she said, tracing healed, jagged cuts around his thumb on the side of his hand, probably from work.
There was strength in them, roughness. A raw honesty that didn’t bullshit around.
She’d seen how capable and kind they could be. How gentle he was with AB, how helpful he was to everyone else.
These were hands that worked for everything they’d earned. Hands that showed up, day after day, protecting, caring, and loving.
She slowly kissed the palm of his hand, overcome with affection.
She froze as her lips landed on the heat of his palm.
Fuuuucking shit.
I just kissed him.
His eyes were wide with shock as he stared at her.
Oh, fuck.
He said he wanted to keep things professional and I just kissed the palm of his hand like we’ve been married for ten years.
She dropped his hand and scooted away. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” She leapt to her feet. “I should go.”
“Olivia,” he whispered after her.
She grabbed her keys and tossed her shoes and coat on. She’d get anything else she needed on Monday.
He followed her into the kitchen. “Olivia, it’s not a big deal.”
“I’ll see you Monday morning, okay?” She rushed to the back door.
“Liv,” he called after her.
“Sorry again,” she called as she shut the door behind her.
The cold night air smacked her in the face, and she stilled on his back porch.
Hundreds of stars in the sky sparkled back.
She felt insignificant and small and lonely.
Wait, was she sorry?
Mortified at coming onto the guy who pays me each week. At kissing someone who is quickly becoming one of my favorite people who might not like me back.
But was she sorry?
Of finally being honest with herself and him?
Letting her body do what it had craved for weeks?
The door slowly opened behind her.
Maybe he’s upset? She needed to make things right. No mistakes is the bare minimum. “I understand if you don’t want me to babysit anymore. Sorry, that was—”
“Stop,” he said gently, shutting the door behind him.
He stood close to her. Even then, she felt her body want to angle into his—like they were made to be together.
“Are you?” He said it slowly, cautiously. “Actually sorry?”
His tone was disbelieving.
As if waiting for her to admit something.
She finally met his gaze.
His eyes were full of care and agony. Please put me out of this misery was written across his face.
And she had to agree.
She took in his handsome, sculpted features, his kind eyes, the lips she’d tried not to stare at, and his scent that reached into her soul and soothed it.
She was so tired of being unhappy.
This man made her so happy.
“No.” She sucked in a breath as she stared at his mouth. “No, I don’t think I’m sorry at all.”