Chapter 9Olivia
Olivia
The amber lighting paints the chocolate wood-paneled walls of the So-Ho style café.
I bite off a piece of the brownie I ordered, moaning as the soft fudge melts on my tongue.
“Mm. Now this makes recording the weekly transactions in that Venus flytrap worth it.” My eyes flutter in bliss, head jerking my bangs away.
Smooth Brew is always our coffee shop of choice when the three of us are together for a break at work. Sometimes, we just need a change of scenery from the small-town ambience we’re surrounded by every day.
“You should record those daily so you don’t have to be swamped with a million of them on Friday,” Alex suggests, a judgmental brow popping over the frame of his glasses.
I shrug, lifting my hot vanilla latte. “Yeah, but how do I get to caring enough to do that? Is there a special pill you guys are taking? Viagra for accountants, maybe?”
“Not sure there’s a definite answer there,” Emma pipes up beside me.
My job as an accountant at Smith and Anderson PC is a good-paying job, don’t get me wrong.
But it’s not a passion-paying job. I’m not sneezing at the accomplishment of becoming a CPA, but on the other hand, my father always told me I was never too young to start over if I decided I wanted to.
Words that sort of just glued to my heart ever since he uttered them.
Maybe he’s the true reason I’m a hopeless dreamer.
As much as I want to live by my dad’s philosophy, it all seems so far-fetched when you’re living in the real world with hefty bills to pay.
Now, if I was a character in a novel or film, there could be an ending where I quit my job as an accountant and run after something that lights a smile on my face.
“Oh, there never is,” I say, shifting back in my seat.
“I’m twenty-six and still writing mental lists of everything I could be doing instead of accounting.
There should be a career guru, you know?
” My eyes light up as they bounce from Emma to Alex.
“Think about it. Someone you can make an appointment with who tells you exactly what you’re meant for. ”
“And if you don’t like their idea?” Alex counters, eyeing me over the rim of his coffee.
I narrow my eyes, shaking my head at his ridiculous challenge.
“They’re a guru. They would know what’s best for me better than I would.
Lord knows I can’t trust myself. I change my mind twenty times a day.
” I sigh, planting an elbow on the white granite as I pout my glossy lips.
“I feel like I wasted my college years preparing for a profession that’s a subpar career now. ”
“You make it sound like you’re forty, babe,” Emma interjects, her fingers lingering in the soft curls of my high ponytail. “Also, you can always go back to school.”
“Oh, yeah,” I scoff. “Let me just grow money out of my ass.”
“Listen, you’re good at what you do now, and you’re making decent money. Not many people your age can say the same,” she adds. “And if it makes you feel better, my friend is playing at Bobby’s Place with his band tomorrow night. Live music. Drinks. Small bites. Dancing. You should come.”
I shake my head, sitting up straighter. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve distanced myself from going out late at night.”
Emma peels her hand from me, sighing in remorse. “Fuck, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry, Liv.”
My hand rests against my turtleneck, gaping eyes meeting her rueful ones.
“No, don’t be sorry. I appreciate the invite, but I’m just not ready to cross that bridge right now.
Besides …” I shuffle back in my chair, adjusting the hem of my plaid skirt at the same time.
“It’s me, Lauren, and trash TV tomorrow night.
Her hermit-like lifestyle has really grown on me. ”
I yank a chuckle from both Alex and Emma, but my own amusement falls short.
Images of my attacker grate my skin. My throat rolls through the loneliness, and it dawns on me that it’s been a month since I visited the police station.
I don’t know why I expected more, considering I understood that the man who rescued me wanted to keep his privacy intact.
Regardless, I’m foolishly waiting for something beyond this silence.
I’ve been given the cold shoulder before, but this one stings like dry ice on my bare skin.
Dry.
That’s probably the only word he used to describe my letter to him. Maybe I gave myself too much credit. I mean, I think I’m a decent writer. I was absolutely convinced I paid justice to the gratitude I feel.
But he couldn’t possibly reach out to me when he doesn’t even know my name. On the other hand, if he really wanted to find me, he’d rummage up a way to do just that. Officer Bellmont is a phone call away, and I guess that’s what’s bothering me the most.
I bend, trailing my hand down my left leg to brush my fingers against my leather ankle boot. He may not be physically near, but he’s with me.
All the time.
His protection is palpable, and as comforting as I knew it would be to wear this charm, I’m saddened at the same time. Because it’s just a souvenir.
A memento.
Not real.
Cade
The last two months have been haywire, given the official opening of Chrome Pipes Brewing. Business has climbed considerably, and now that I have a decent grip on my responsibilities, I’m quickly learning how to keep my head above water.
To celebrate the snowballing success, Jenna and I decided to create time for ourselves for a Sunday night dinner. She even offered to go to a steakhouse restaurant rather than the more recent excuse of being too tired to leave the house.
“What are you thinking of getting?” I ask.
My question is only answered by the distant clanking of ceramic dishes and metal utensils.
I perk my gaze up from my menu, meeting Jenna’s golden locks at the top of her head.
Then I drag my eyes to the tealight at the center of the linen between us, irritation traveling its way up from my stomach to my chest.
“I’m sorry,” Jenna finally answers, jerking her head up. “What did you say?”
My words falter for a silent beat as my mouth twitches. Then my stare lands on her pink lips, only to skate up to her sapphire eyes. “I asked what you were thinking of getting.”
“Oh.” She rests her iPhone face down next to her table setting, only to pick up the black booklet to sift through the pages. “I’m not sure. How about you?” Her fingers reach for the few loose strands framing the side of her face, tucking them behind her ear.
I’ve barely held her eyes tonight.
Jenna’s attention burrows in the menu, her chest pumping tentatively beneath her blush, satin blouse. My throat chucks up a wise response, but I swallow it down in the same breath. “I’m between the skirt steak and ribeye,” I simply say, my eyes connected to her.
She nods, her stare still chained to those damn pages. “Mm, maybe I’ll do the skirt steak too. I remember really enjoying it at the other steakhouse we went to.”
Maybe it’s a side effect from all the stress I’ve endured lately, but I’m beginning to place every single one of Jenna’s actions under a microscope. But even if it is paranoia, isn’t there a reason for it?
Throughout our entire three years together, Jenna’s never been more attached to her phone. It seems like an irrelevant detail in today’s world, but there’s been a shift in our relationship. One that’s too rocky for my liking.
I shut the menu booklet in my lap, laying it on the table as I opt to salvage my sanity. “If you don’t like the food, you can blame my employee, Jake, for the recommendation,” I joke.
Attention still averted, the corner of her mouth lifts. “Noted.”
Once the waiter comes over to drop off our drink orders from earlier, I lift my beer glass. “Cheers to finally getting a night alone.”
For the first time tonight, Jenna’s eyes hold mine longer than a couple seconds, and her lips twist into a small smile. “Cheers.”
When the tart liquid lathers my tongue, both our eyes drop to the vibration rumbling from her iPhone. I don’t miss how quick she is to place her hand over the device, and then she’s peeling the wine glass from her lips in the same instant.
She settles the drink on the linen, sneaking a peek at her home screen before flipping it over once more. I slump back comfortably in my chair, legs spreading as I rest the beer glass on the table. “Who is that?” I ask with a jerk of my chin.
Her eyes narrow. “Cade, stop.”
“Or you can just answer my question,” I reply coolly.
“A friend,” she retorts. “Hannah.”
A friend from college. Legitimate or a cop-out? I used to know without batting an eye.
I shrug, my lips flatlining. “I was just curious who’s got your attention more than me right now. Especially when we haven’t had a night like this in a long time. A night you suggested earlier in the week.”
Her face tenses when I deliver the snarky remark. “I don’t have to talk every second of every moment with you. That’s ridiculous to expect of me, and I don’t even see you sparking up conversations.”
“I didn’t say you needed to speak every second,” I challenge. “I was making an observation. One where your face is buried in your phone most of the time, making me not care to spark a conversation with you. At all, actually.”
She rolls her eyes, taking her wine to sink back in her seat. “You really know how to set the mood on a date night, don’t you?” she quips, raising the brim of the glass to her mouth. “I’m just dying to jump your bones when we get home.”
I shuffle forward in my chair, crossing my forearms over the table as my palms cradle the cotton of my flannel. “I’d give you the world if that’s what you asked for. You know that,” I confess lowly. “You can talk to me, Jenna. I’m not your enemy.”
Her body softens, the release of the pressure reaching her eyes. Those blue irises glimmer with the reflection of the tealight, and her lips tip up in the corner. “You’re right.”
As reassuring as her smile is, my heart’s been exerting more energy than Jenna’s recently.
Her efforts to engage in a substantial conversation with me, or offer affection, have lost momentum.
I’m always the one to steer us back on course, as I should be.
I’m the man. My ultimate job in this relationship is to protect her.
Protect us . Be the glue that holds us together.
Tonight isn’t any different from the arguments we’ve encountered the last couple months.
Whenever I muster up a comment about her phone, she always volleys a defensive remark back instead of taking ownership.
Isn’t this about give and take? There’s room for both of us to make compromises, and out of all I could request from her, I don’t think attention is some challenging feat.
Yet, my instincts dangle eerily inside me, warning me that our relationship has encountered a boulder on the road. I’m just hoping we can find an alternative route to reach the destination we originally had in mind.