Chapter 26 Odin
Nicola’s belief in me, her unwavering support in the face of Greg’s predictable sabotage, it’s a balm to the raw edges of my frustration.
Last night, the anger had lingered, a bitter taste in my mouth.
But then, something shifted. Her faith, her quiet confidence that we could handle this, it seeped into me, replacing the rage with a different kind of energy.
A focused energy. I’m not going to let Greg Hoyston win. Not now. Not ever.
And I’m not going to let Nicola fight her battles alone either.
Her house, that beautiful, battered Victorian across the street, it’s more than just bricks and mortar to her.
It’s a dream, a piece of her heart made tangible.
Seeing her worry this morning, the slump of her shoulders, it tightened something inside me.
I want to ease that burden for her. I need to.
This morning, while Stevie was still lost in the cartoon-induced haze of Saturday morning, I made a few calls.
Discreet calls. I pulled in a favor from a contact at the city planning office, someone who owes me a solid.
He connected me with Elias Vance, the structural engineer everyone in the state wants on their payroll, but no one can afford.
Except maybe me. Elias, a genius in historical renovations and red tape expert, is expensive but worth Nicola's peace of mind.
Visiting the Victorian, Elias's sharp eyes quickly assess the house.
He silently examines the damage, makers notes, and asks questions.
His reputation speaks for itself. He comes up with a detailed, fast-tracked plan to fix structural issues while preserving historical integrity.
For materials, I contact Riley to find pieces honoring the house’s past and future – moldings, lighting, and flooring. The aim is to restore the house's soul.
Now, as I glance at the clock, I realize Nicola will be home soon.
She’s been out late today, running a Saturday program.
I told her I’d handle Stevie tonight and give her a break.
But really, I have another plan entirely.
A plan that involves candlelight, soft music, and hopefully, a smile that reaches those incredible green eyes.
I pull up to the community center just as the late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the parking lot. Nicola is waiting outside, a stack of papers clutched in her arms, and her brow furrowed in concentration even as she spots my truck. A small smile softens her features as she approaches.
“Hey,” she says, sliding into the passenger seat, the scent of lavender and vanilla filling the cab, a welcome familiarity. “Thanks for picking me up. This day felt like it was never going to end.”
“Long day with the little terrors?” I tease, glancing at her. She looks tired, but still beautiful. There’s a smudge of what looks like paint on her cheek, and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, but it only adds to her charm.
She laughs, a weary but genuine sound. “Something like that. Kids and glitter glue are a dangerous combination, let me tell you.” She gestures to the papers in her lap. “And reviewing these activity sheets on ‘My Favorite Animal’ is… enlightening.”
“Enlightening how?”
“Let’s just say I now know more about the mating habits of hamsters than I ever thought possible, or wanted to know.”
I chuckle, pulling away from the curb. “Sounds… educational.”"
“Traumatic is more like it.” She leans back against the seat, closing her eyes for a moment. “So, what’s the plan for tonight? Stevie duty?”
“Stevie duty is definitely on the agenda,” I confirm. “But before that… how about dinner? ”
Her eyes open, a flicker of surprise in their depths. “Dinner? Tonight? I thought…”
“I know, you thought you were going home to microwave leftovers and collapse on the couch,” I finish for her, a smile playing on my lips. “But I had a different idea. Consider it a thank you. For having my back yesterday. For… everything.”
A blush colors her cheeks, a delicate rose tint that makes my chest tighten. “Odin, you don’t have to…”
“I want to,” I interrupt softly, reaching for her hand and threading my fingers through hers. Her skin is warm, calloused in places, a testament to her hard work. “Besides,” I add, a playful glint in my eyes, “I’m starving. And I know just the place.”
The restaurant is called Aureum. It's ’ tucked away on a side street, almost hidden from view.
It’s not flashy or ostentatious, but it exudes an understated elegance.
Dark wood paneling, soft lighting, plush velvet booths, and the murmur of hushed conversations create an atmosphere of intimate sophistication.
It’s the kind of place where you can have a serious conversation without shouting, where the food is exquisite without being pretentious, and where you can feel like you’ve stepped out of the everyday and into something a little bit special.
It’s also the kind of place where being seen with someone sends a certain message. A message I want to send.
The hostess, a woman with a warm smile and knowing eyes, leads us to a secluded booth in the back, draped in heavy burgundy curtains. As we slide into the plush seats, Nicola’s eyes widen slightly, taking in the ambiance.
“Odin, this is… beautiful,” she murmurs, her gaze sweeping over the room.
“I thought you deserved a little beauty after a day of glitter glue and hamster essays,” I say, my voice low, intimate.
A genuine smile lights up her face, chasing away the last vestiges of fatigue. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Maybe,” I admit, meeting her gaze. “Or maybe I’m just finally treating you the way you deserve to be treated.”
The waiter arrives, and we order drinks – a crisp Sauvignon Blanc for Nicola and a single malt scotch for me.
As we wait, a comfortable silence settles between us, punctuated by the soft clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation around us.
I watch Nicola, the way the candlelight dances in her green eyes, the soft curve of her lips as she studies the menu.
She’s captivating. Completely, utterly captivating.
“So,” she says, setting down the menu, her gaze meeting mine. “What’s the real reason for this fancy dinner, Mr. Baxter?
” There’s a playful teasing in her tone, but I also sense a hint of curiosity, a question in her eyes.
I take a slow sip of my scotch, letting the smoky flavor linger on my tongue. “The real reason?” I repeat, setting down my glass. “Well, partly it’s because I wanted to thank you. For being you. For being in my life. Especially this week.”
Her cheeks flush again, and she looks down, a shy smile playing on her lips. “You’re welcome.”
“But partly,” I continue, reaching for my leather bag. I see Nicola’s eyebrows questioning. I lift the front flap and pull out my tablet. “It’s because I have something I wanted to show you.” I click on the blue icon and click on the folder named “Williams.”
Nicola’s brow furrows in confusion. I pass her the tablet. “What’s this?”
“It is a set of plans for your house. I say, watching her expectantly.
With hesitant fingers, she clicks on the first file.
It happens to be a drawing of the reimagined sunroom.
It will update the current one, recently impaled by one oak tree.
All of the files for the renovation are in the folder.
Architectural drawings, floor plans, and elevations are all rendered in crisp, professional lines and available in one portable location.
Nicola’s eyes widen as she takes in the details.
“Odin, what is all this?” she asks her voice barely a whisper.
“ It’s your house, Nicola,” I say softly, watching her reaction. “It’s a plan. A plan to fix it. To restore it. To make it even more beautiful than it was before.”
She stares at the plans, her eyes tracing the lines, the details, the possibilities. Slowly, she lifts her gaze to mine, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You did this?”
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. “I hired Elias Vance. He’s the best structural engineer in the state. He’s already assessed the damage, and drawn up the plans. I’ve sourced materials, period-appropriate, high quality. Everything to bring your house back to life.”
She spends quite a bit of time looking at the floorplan for the kitchen, noticing that the former front hall closet has been commandeered as a walk in the pantry. Her breath catches in her throat.
Silence hangs in the air, thick with emotion. Nicola’s gaze is fixed on the screen, but I can see the tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. I reach across the table, taking her hand again, my thumb gently stroking the back of her hand.
“Odin,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I say, my voice low, soothing. “Just… look at the plans. Tell me what you think.”
She takes a shaky breath, wiping her tears with the back of her free hand. She looks back down at the files, scrolling through the folder again, but this time, there’s a different expression in her eyes. Awe. Wonder. And something else… something that looks a lot like… love.
“It’s… incredible,” she breathes, her voice still trembling. “It’s more than I ever imagined. You’ve… you’ve thought of everything.” She points to a detail on the plan, a delicate rendering of a restored porch railing. “Even the railing. I thought that was beyond saving.”
“Elias is a miracle worker,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. “And I wanted it to be perfect. For you.”
She looks up at me again, her eyes shining with emotion. “Odin, I… I don’t know how to thank you. This is… this is too much.”
“It’s not too much,” I say firmly, squeezing her hand. “It’s exactly what you deserve. And it’s what I want to do. For you.”
She’s silent for a long moment, her gaze searching mine as if trying to read my soul. Then, slowly, a soft smile spreads across her face, a smile that radiates warmth and gratitude and something else… something that makes my heart soar.
“Okay,” she says, her voice stronger now, filled with a newfound resolve. “Okay, I accept. But, I want to be involved. Every step of the way. This is still my house, Odin. And I want to help. I want to choose the paint colors, and the fixtures, and… and everything.”
“That’s exactly what I want,” I say, my smile widening. “This is a collaboration, Nicola. Between us. Just like… everything else.”
We spend the evening discussing plans, Nicola’s initial shock melts into excitement and a renewed sense of hope.
Her enthusiasm is infectious as she points out details and offers suggestions.
It isn’t just about fixing the house, but building something together, a shared vision for our future.
The conversation flows naturally to the hotel project.
She offers perspectives that are creative and insightful.
Lost in our world of shared dreams and whispered confidences, we talk for hours, brainstorming ideas for the hotel, oblivious to the restaurant emptying around us and the waiters clearing tables.
It is exhilarating, this merging of our minds, this synergy.
As the evening draws to a close, and we finally step out into the cool night air, hand in hand, I feel a sense of…
completeness. A feeling I haven’t felt in years.
Nicola is beside me, her face glowing in the soft moonlight, her eyes sparkling with excitement and hope.
She’s not just a woman I desire; she’s a partner, a confidante, a muse.
She’s everything I didn’t know I was missing.
“Thank you, Odin,” she says softly, turning to face me, her hand still clasped in mine. “For tonight. For… everything.”
“ Thank you, Nicola,” I reply, my voice husky with emotion. “For being you.” I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “And for letting me be me. With you.”
We drive home. As we turn onto Maple Avenue I can see the Victorian house looming in the distance, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, it doesn’t look quite so battered anymore. It looks… hopeful.