Chapter 21Olivia
Olivia
I wish I could say my ego wasn’t slapped when Cade never responded to my text, but my confidence is still a work in progress.
Okay, I digress.
My ego was slapped a fuck ton.
Even with the number of times I stared at that damn message thread, I need to respect the fact that he has a girlfriend.
I swear, I know this.
But that revelation doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.
And I guess it’s that hope that has my fingers tapping my phone screen right now.
Me: If you’re in the mood for a coffee, I’m at The Grind for the next hour.
Simple.
Innocent.
Gets the point across.
I sip my warm latte as I set the phone on the table, reopening my book to the page I bookmarked. Of course, when I remove the coffee cup from my lips, hot liquid spills onto my chiffon blouse and plaid skirt.
“Nice one, Liv,” I groan softly, planting the drink down.
Luckily, there are a few napkins I took from the pick-up counter earlier. I wipe at my top, and when I stand from the chair, I head to the front of the café to throw away the crumpled paper.
Only, my bare ankle above my black heel yanks my attention.
My gut tightens, the sight of the silver bobble chain taunting me. Normally, this wouldn’t be a huge deal, but considering I just invited Cade to hang out with me, this could get extremely awkward very quickly.
I bend to unclasp the jewelry, feeling my armor stripping from me when I lift myself back up. My head pokes around at the few people standing unknowingly in line, silently wondering if anything has changed at the scenery. But everything is exactly as it was a moment ago.
Not a hair out of place.
I’m safe.
“Olivia!”
The barista shouts my name behind the Tiffany blue counter, and fright penetrates through me. Leave it to me to wait for a fresh batch of cinnamon buns and then forget I ordered one at all.
I step forward as I pocket the anklet in my skirt, picking up the small bag when I reach the counter. Turning on my heels, the “Hello Board” focuses into view, and I stray off course.
I pluck a Post-it and pen from the mounted holder, but when I realize I don’t have three hands to work with, I grab the roll out of the bag, only to toss the brown paper out.
Shamelessly, I lodge the cinnamon treat between my teeth and scribble a message onto a neon paper before tacking it.
“Hey.”
By now, I know that voice.
I turn as I bite off part of the sugary dough, a pair of blue-gray eyes meeting me on the other side. “Hey,” I croak mid-chew. Pulling the bun away from my mouth, the ends of a couple strands of my hair stick to the icing.
Smooth, Olivia.
A crumb fastens to my lip gloss, and just as I lick it off, Cade’s fingers brush the hair off my snack. “You’d think this would embarrass me, but I warmed up before you got here,” I joke, gesturing to my stained outfit.
Cade’s hand hides in his jeans pocket, his head swerving to the side with a smirk. “Are you on lunch?” he asks before returning his gaze to me.
He’s donning all black today. Black jeans, shirt, boots, and coat. All accessorized with thick waves tousled at the top of his head and a stubbled beard.
Girlfriend.
“Yeah,” I say, leading us back to where I’m sitting.
“What are you reading?” he asks, taking the seat across from me at the small, round table.
I place the cinnamon roll on a napkin before lifting my latte cup. “Jenny Hart. She’s my favorite romance author.” The foam of my beverage fizzles on my tongue, hints of vanilla bursting free.
“Why is she your favorite?” His forearms lounge on the table as he leans in.
I shrug gently, eyes dipping to the closed book before landing on those ocean-deep irises. “Her writing is incredible. Sucks you right into the story from the very beginning. Not only that, but she can flawlessly execute the darkest of themes.”
“Dark themes?” he asks.
I nod as I draw another gulp of my drink. “Tragedy and love aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. Love has the power to heal, don’t you think?”
His chest fills, body tensing as he pivots his attention from me. “I think it also has the power to break you.”
“Aren’t you a bundle of joy,” I quip.
A smirk blooms on his lips, and his tattooed hand sifts through his hair before focusing on me again. “Is that the kind of genre you want to write?”
He’s interested in me .
He balances an elbow on the white quartz, his knuckles resting against his jawline.
“Not dark romance, per se, but I’ve had a few ideas outlined,” I answer. “And by outline, I mean one measly sentence.”
“What is your job?” he asks through pinched brows. “I realize I don’t know what you do.”
“Does it matter if you know?” I counter.
“I don’t ask questions that don’t matter to me.”
Blood rushes straight to my cheeks, my skin heating at the weight of his promising stare. That ring-clad middle finger begs me to caress it, and hot desire settles at my core.
“I’m an accountant.”
“Does it fulfill you?” he prods.
I barely nod. “Sometimes.”
He drops his hand, crossing both forearms on the tabletop again. “‘Sometimes’ isn’t a ‘yes.’”
When I raise my coffee cup to my lips, I say, “‘Sometimes’ is all some people get.”
“Not if you want something bad enough.”
I swallow thickly past the vanilla foam, resting my cup on the ivory surface between us. “If I asked you if your life fulfilled you, would your answer match your philosophy?”
“We’re not talking about me.”
He sinks into the chair, burying both hands in the pockets of his jacket. His gaze never cowers from mine, steadying over my face in a fierce commitment. Letting me know that my inquiries stop here.
At first, his response burns like a shot of whiskey down my throat. Tense body language barricades his feelings, preventing me from accessing them. But then his answer quickly smooths out on the end. As bitter as his raised guard is, his short answer serves me with hope.
A chance.
On the other side of that, it’s a poignant pill to swallow. If he was over the moon in love with the woman he’s with, I could bow to her without hesitation. But to surrender all our “what ifs” for a relationship that he’s not completely invested in? That’s a sting of the sharpest blade.
My eyes soar over his frame, a curdling in my stomach berating my audacity. The nerve I have to justify breaking up a relationship, all the while Cade sits before me with the barest clue.
“I think I should get going.” I stand, stuffing my paperback inside my tote bag.
But just as I’m putting my jacket on, Cade rises from his seat. “I’ll walk you.”
I shake my head, pinning him with a subdued smile before draping my bag over my shoulder. “No, you really don’t have to.”
“I don’t,” he echoes. “But you also don’t like walking to your car alone. Your ‘don’t’ beats my ‘don’t.’”
My teeth gently dig into my bottom lip, and I avert my attention to scoop up my cinnamon treat. “Not for nothing, but who comes to a coffee shop without buying a drink?” I tease as I wrap my snack in the paper napkin.
I roll my eyes just as the corner of his mouth tips up, and then we’re trailing away. “Someone who’s a glutton for punishment, I suppose,” he tosses back.
We make our way toward the front of the café, and I request a to-go bag from a barista. When I drop the half-eaten roll inside, I walk up to the “Hello Board” with Cade on my tail.
Pointing to it with a tiny grin, I say, “I’m gonna suggest this to my supervisor at my annual review. Maybe that’s what my job needs.”
And I’m out the doors.
Cade
If she’s the one, does she know how lucky she is?
My fingers linger under my chin for a moment, the cool metal of my ring battling the hot tingle along my back.
This should be the reaction of a single man who just met a beautiful woman. Not the response of a committed man.
My focus zooms out from the yellow paper on the cork, and then I pad over to the exit. When I swing the glass door away from me, Olivia’s already traveling a few feet down the sidewalk.
“You really don’t have to walk me,” she says when my body drifts beside her.
A ribbon of her peony scent coils around my body, driving my hands into my jeans pockets. With the way her soft curls cascade and bounce past her shoulders, I’m a pitiful breath away from twisting them around my fingers.
This is all so fucked up.
Her inviting me for coffee. Me accepting the small proposal. Her long and lean legs in that goddamn plaid skirt and black heels.
Shit.
The window of opportunity mockingly lowers, and we’re just a casual walk from parting ways. All the caged words rise to my throat, prepared to be launched out rather than left unsaid yet again.
I refuse to submit this time.
My instincts bolden when her legs subtly kick up speed, blood simmering with a forbidden craving. “You can really drive a man crazy, you know that?” I quip, continuing after her.
Her silken lips exhale a laugh. “Is that so?”
“Yes, it is so,” I say curtly. “And frankly, your antics are starting to become borderline unbearable.”
A slight scowl dresses her face, but she never peers in my direction. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have accepted my invitation for coffee.”
“Hey,” I demand, halting her with my palm around her arm. “Would you slow down for a damn second? I’m talking to you.”
“What?” she fires back, swatting my hand off of her. “Believe it or not, I’m not made of stone. Okay?”
My eyes skate back and forth between hers. Her lenses are glazed with tears threatening to spill over any moment, and my chest hollows out.
If I thought I’d be rewarded with some internal gold medal for resisting Olivia, I was deeply misguided. Because there isn’t a strand of solace I win for my loyalty. Just a gaping hole beneath my chest where Olivia was gouged out.
Gone.
Just like that.
“Can you just stop for a moment? Please?” I ask, my voice a notch above a whisper. Her throat rolls as she steers her gaze from me, and I shake my head in wonder. “I’ve never met someone like you before.”
She inhales a rickety breath, eyes still drifted to the side. “Like what?”
“Like you just fit.”
The words flow out of me like a stream of water—smooth and fast.
Olivia darts her eyes back to me. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re with someone.”
She curls around the brick building at the corner of the sidewalk, quickly marching to the entrance of the parking lot.
It doesn’t matter?
Since when?
In a flash, my boots are hot alongside her heels. “That doesn’t seem to be stopping you though, huh? You’re so hard up for it, like you’re just begging me to slip a hand under that skirt.”
She pivots to station in front of me, slamming her fist downward. “Ugh, how dare you speak to me like that?”
“How dare I?” I spit back, stabbing a finger at my pounding chest. “You’re playing all these little games, and…”
My hand swipes down my mouth as I straighten my posture, frustration crawling through my veins. She’s unmoving as I pivot my head, and a deceptive smirk paints my face.
I backpedal as I pluck my Suddora bandana from my jeans pocket, fastening the handkerchief around my head as I hold her eyes. “Take a cold shower, then come talk to me. How about that?” I taunt her with a jerk of my chin.
My hands drop from my hair as I turn to walk off, but her fist crashes into my arm. I pivot around as she leans into my chest, her fingers grasping the lapel of my coat.
Her stare is blown with fury as her chin slants up, my lips pursing when she harshly tugs me forward. “Maybe you should tell that to yourself considering you keep coming back for more,” she grits out. “Such a devoted boyfriend you are.”
She rips herself from me to trek the few feet to her car, but when she reaches the door, I snake an arm in front of her.
My palm latches onto the handle, her breath hitching when my chest collides with her shoulder.
I shut my eyes across a breath in, and I beg myself to shake the scent of her.
To extinguish the electricity that’s lighting me the fuck up right now.
I angle my chin down so my lips hover over her hair. “You’re going to stop with these mind games. If that wasn’t the original reason I came to meet you for coffee, it sure as hell is now.”
Her body twists to face me, eyes hardening to mint marbles. “Does she?”
I squint on a tight jaw, my comprehension lagging for a few silent moments until I read the subtext.
The Post-it message.
If she’s the one, does she know how lucky she is?
A double-edged sword directs itself toward me. If I lie, I protect Jenna. If I fess up with the truth, I protect myself.
And for the first time in three years, I choose the latter.
“Sometimes.”
“‘Sometimes’ isn’t a ‘yes,’” she bites out.
She thrusts the car door open, my legs kicking a few steps back from the jab of the metal. And all the while I watch her rev the engine to life and peel off, I consider the split decision I just made.
If you asked me how a man proves his love to a woman, I’d tell you it was by being selfless. Place her before everyone and everything.
But instead, I placed Jenna’s heart behind mine.
And maybe, when I accepted Olivia’s invitation here, it was for this purpose.
To acknowledge that Jenna’s heart isn’t worth protecting anymore.