Chapter 25 Nicola
The morning light filters through the curtains as I stretch in bed, savoring the warmth of the sheets.
Three weeks into living at Odin's pool house, and I'm surprised by how quickly it's begun to feel like home.
Not that I don't miss my Victorian —I do, desperately—but there's something about waking up here, with Stevie's giggles echoing down the hallway and the scent of Odin's coffee brewing, that feels right in a way I never expected.
After a quick shower, I throw on a simple blue dress and head downstairs, following the sounds of life.
"But why can't I have chocolate chips in my oatmeal?" Stevie asks as I enter the kitchen.
Odin, dressed in dark jeans and a gray henley that hugs his broad shoulders in all the right ways, stands at the stove stirring a pot. "Because it's a school day, and we've talked about this. Chocolate is for weekends."
"Miss Williams lets us have chocolate milk at lunch sometimes," Stevie counters, her expression serious.
"That's different," Odin says, not looking up from the oatmeal.
"How?"
"It just is."
"Th at's not a reason."
I bite back a laugh as I watch them. For all his business acumen and rock-star charisma, Odin Baxter is completely outmatched by his five-year-old daughter.
"Good morning," I say, making my presence known.
Stevie's face lights up. "Nicola! Tell Daddy chocolate chips are healthy because they come from beans."
I press my lips together to suppress a smile. "Well, technically, cacao is a bean, but—"
"See?" Stevie says triumphantly.
"But," I continue, moving to the coffee pot, "your dad's right about saving treats for special days. How about we make chocolate chip pancakes this weekend?"
Stevie considers this compromise, her little face scrunched in thought. "Saturday?"
"Saturday," I confirm.
"Okay." She returns to her coloring book, apparently satisfied with this negotiation.
Odin shoots me a grateful look over her head. "You're a miracle worker," he murmurs as I pour myself coffee.
"Just experienced with third-graders," I whisper back. "Five-year-olds are basically the same negotiation tactics, just shorter."
His laugh is low and warm, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. "Thank you for last night."
Heat floods my cheeks as memories of our evening together flash through my mind—his hands on my skin, his mouth trailing kisses down my body, the way he whispered my name as we moved together.
"My pleasure," I say, my voice huskier than intended.
His eyes darken, and for a moment, I think he might kiss me right there in the kitchen. But Stevie's voice breaks the spell.
"Can we go to the park after school today?"
Odin clears his throat. "Not today, Stevie-girl. Grandma's picking you up, remember? Daddy has meetings."
"And I have papers to grade," I add, ruffling her hair. "But maybe tomorrow?"
The morning routine flows with surprising ease—breakfast, teeth brushing, backpack checking. Odin drives Stevie to school while I finish getting ready for my own day. By the time I leave for Redwood Hills Elementary, the pool house is quiet, Odin is out meeting suppliers.
The school day passes in a blur of spelling tests, math worksheets, and a particularly messy art project involving papier-maché. By the time the final bell rings, I'm more than ready to head home.
Home. The word catches me off guard. When did I start thinking of Odin's pool house as home?
I push the thought aside as I gather my things and head to my car. The drive is short, just a few minutes through the tree-lined streets of Redwood Hills.
The sound of his voice reaches me before I even open the door—loud, angry, and unmistakably frustrated.
"This is bullshit, Greg, and you know it!" Odin's voice booms from his office. "Those permits were approved last month. There's no legitimate reason for this delay."
I hesitate in the entryway, not wanting to intrude on what's clearly a heated business call. But as I set down my bag, Odin's voice rises again.
"Don't give me that bureaucratic nonsense. You've been gunning for me since I announced this project. What's your problem? Still bitter I got the lead in the senior musical twenty years ago?"
Despite the tension, I almost laugh at that. The image of teenage Odin in a high school musical is both adorable and hard to reconcile with the imposing businessman I know now.
"Fine. Have it your way," Odin continues, his voice tight with controlled anger. "But know this—I will be at that council meeting on Thursday, and I will fight this every step of the way. You're not shutting down my project because of some personal vendetta."
I hear the sound of something being slammed down—probably his phone—followed by a string of colorful curses that would make a sailor blush.
Taking a deep breath, I knock lightly on his office door before pushing it open. "Bad day?"
Odin looks up, his expression thunderous. But the moment he sees me, his features soften, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. "Sorry about that," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Didn't mean for you to hear all that."
"Greg Hoyston?" I ask, moving into the room.
He nods, leaning back in his chair. "The one and only. Apparently, there's suddenly an 'issue' with my permits. An issue that magically appeared right after Greg joined the planning commission."
I perch on the edge of his desk, my skirt riding up slightly. Odin's eyes flicker to my legs before returning to my face, a different kind of tension now evident in his gaze.
"What kind of issue?" I ask, trying to keep us both focused.
He sighs. "They're claiming the environmental impact study needs to be redone because of 'concerns about the local watershed.' Which is complete nonsense. We did the most comprehensive study possible, went above and beyond the requirements."
"Can they actually stop the project?"
"De lay it, certainly. Stop it entirely? Not if I have anything to say about it." His jaw clenches. "But every day of delay costs money. And Greg knows that."
I study Odin's face—the tight line of his mouth, the furrow between his brows. "This seems personal."
"It is." He stands, pacing the small office. "Greg and I have... history."
"High school rivals?" I guess, remembering his comment about the musical.
A wry smile touches his lips. "Something like that. We competed for everything—sports, grades, girls. He always came in second, and he never forgave me for it."
"And now he's using his position to get back at you?"
"Looks that way." Odin stops pacing and leans against the wall, arms crossed. "The irony is, this project would bring jobs and tourism to Redwood Hills. It's good for the town. But Greg would rather see it fail than see me succeed."
I consider this, tapping my fingers against the desk. "When's the council meeting?"
"Thursday night. Why?"
"I think we should go together," I say, the idea forming as I speak. "Present a united front. Show the council this isn't just about one businessman's project—it's about a local family investing in the community's future."
Odin raises an eyebrow. "You'd do that?"
"Of course." I stand and move toward him. "We're engaged, remember? Your battles are my battles now."
Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, gratitude, and something deeper I can't quite name. "Nicola Williams," he says softly, "you continue to amaze me."
He reaches for me, pulling me against him. His kiss is gentle at first, then deepens as I respond, my body melting into his. When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"What was that for?" I ask, my hands still resting on his chest.
"For being you." His thumb traces my lower lip. "For caring about my work when you have every reason not to."
I tilt my head. "What do you mean?"
"Come on, Nicola. When we met, you were dead set against this development. You thought it would ruin the neighborhood."
I consider this, remembering my initial reaction to the zoning change application. "That was before I understood what you were trying to create. Before I knew you."
And it's true. What had seemed like a soulless commercial venture now feels like something meaningful—a vision for a place that would honor the neighborhood's history while bringing new life to it. Just like Odin himself has brought new life to me.
"Besides," I add, "I've seen your plans. The boutique hotel will be beautiful, and the spa will bring visitors who'll spend money at local businesses. It's good for Redwood Hills."
Odin studies me, his blue eyes intense. "You really believe that?"
"I do." I reach up to smooth the worry lines from his forehead. "And we'll make the council believe it too."
He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For seeing the best in me. In my work." His voice is rough with emotion. "Not many people do."
My heart aches at the vulnerability in his words. For all his success, all his wealth and power, Odin Baxter still carries wounds from his past—from the tragedy that took his wife, from the public scrutiny of his rock star days, from old rivalries that never healed.
"We ll, they should," I say firmly. "Because the best of you is pretty extraordinary."
His smile is slow and sweet, transforming his face from handsome to breathtaking. "So, Thursday night? You'll come with me?"
"Absolutely." I wrap my arms around his neck. "I'll even wear my 'supportive fiancée' outfit."
He laughs, his hands settling on my waist. "And what exactly does that look like?"
"Something professional but approachable. Teacher-chic meets future-billionaire's-wife."
"I like the sound of that," he murmurs, his eyes darkening again.
The intensity of his gaze makes my breath catch. "The outfit or the 'future wife' part?"
Instead of answering, he kisses me again, deeper this time, his hands sliding down to cup my bottom and lift me against him. I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me out of the office and up the stairs to our bedroom.
Later, as we lie tangled in the sheets, my head on his chest and his fingers tracing patterns on my bare back, I think about how much has changed in such a short time.
From enemies to fake fiancés to... whatever this is becoming.
Something real. Something that terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.
"What are you thinking about?" Odin asks, his voice rumbling beneath my ear.
I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him. "About how I never expected any of this. You, me, us living together."
"Regrets?" His expression is carefully neutral, but I can see the vulnerability lurking beneath.
"Not one," I say honestly. "Though I do miss my house."
His face softens. "The repairs are coming along. Another few weeks, and yo u'll be back home."
Home. There's that word again. But as I look at Odin, at the warmth in his eyes and the gentle curve of his smile, I wonder if home isn't so much a place as a feeling. A sense of belonging that I've found here, with him and Stevie.
"We should probably get dressed," I say, glancing at the clock. "Alice will be bringing Stevie back soon."
Odin groans but releases me. "Responsible parenting is seriously cramping my style."
I laugh as I slide out of bed, searching for my scattered clothes. "Poor billionaire rock star. Such a hard life."
He throws a pillow at me, which I dodge easily. "Keep it up, Williams, and I'll make you wear a 'Team Baxter Development' t-shirt to the council meeting."
"You wouldn't dare."
His grin is wicked. "Try me."
As I dress, I catch him watching me, his expression soft and wondering, as if he can't quite believe I'm here. I know the feeling. None of this was in my plans—not the fake engagement, not falling for my best friend's brother, not becoming a surrogate mother to his daughter.
But as I lean down to kiss him one more time before heading downstairs to start dinner, I can't imagine wanting any other life than this one.