Chapter 27 Nicola
My phone buzzes against the kitchen counter as I'm grading spelling tests. I glance at the caller ID—a local number I don't recognize.
"Hello, this is Nicola Williams."
"Ms. Williams! So glad I caught you. This is Marissa Jennings from Redwood Life magazine."
I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder, continuing to mark papers. "Hi, Marissa. What can I do for you?"
"I'm calling about the feature we're running next month. We're doing a piece on local power couples, and you and Odin Baxter are at the top of our list."
My red pen freezes mid-mark. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Your engagement! It's the talk of Redwood Hills. Former rock star turned billionaire developer and beloved local teacher—it's the perfect story."
My heart hammers against my ribs. Our fake engagement has spread further than I realized. "I... we haven't really discussed doing interviews."
"Oh, it's nothing intrusive," Marissa assures me. "Just a few questions about how you met, the proposal, your plans for the wedding. And of course, we'd love to get some photos of you two at the boutique hotel site. Show how you're supporting each other's dreams."
I s et down my pen, mind racing. "When exactly is this running?"
"The May issue—so about four weeks from now. We go to print in three."
"Can I talk to Odin and get back to you?"
"Of course! But don't wait too long. This is going to be our cover story."
The cover story. Our fake engagement is going to be splashed across every coffee table and doctor's office in Redwood Hills.
"I'll call you tomorrow," I promise, then hang up.
I stare at the stack of third-grade spelling tests, but I can't focus on them anymore. I need to talk to Odin.
As if summoned by my thoughts, the door to the pool house opens, and Odin walks in, carrying a bag of groceries.
Since the oak tree crashed through my house two weeks ago, I've been staying in his pool house.
What started as an emergency solution has evolved into a comfortable routine—one I'm not eager to end.
"Hey," he says, setting the groceries on the counter. "Stevie's having dinner at Mom's tonight. I thought we could cook together."
I stand up, papers forgotten. "We need to talk."
His expression immediately shifts to concern. "What's wrong?"
"I just got a call from Redwood Life magazine. They're doing a cover story on our engagement."
Odin's eyebrows shoot up. "A cover story?"
"Apparently, we're the power couple of Redwood Hills." I run a hand through my hair. "They want photos, interviews, the whole nine yards."
He's quiet for a moment, unpacking groceries with methodical precision. "What did you tell them?"
"Th at I'd talk to you and call back tomorrow."
He nods, placing a bottle of wine on the counter. "We should do it."
"Really? You want to do a magazine spread about our fake engagement?"
"Think about it, Nic. This gives us control of the narrative. We can present ourselves exactly how we want to be seen." He steps closer, his voice dropping. "And it's good publicity for the hotel project."
I cross my arms. "So this is a business decision?"
His eyes soften as he reaches for me, hands settling on my waist. "Not entirely."
The warmth of his touch sends a familiar flutter through my stomach. It's getting harder to remember this engagement isn't real when everything else between us feels so genuine.
"What if we host an engagement party?" he suggests. "Get ahead of the magazine story, do things on our terms."
"An engagement party?"
"We could use it to introduce the community to the boutique hotel plans too. Show them it's not some corporate takeover but a project that honors the neighborhood's history."
I consider this. "That's... actually not a bad idea."
"Don't sound so surprised." His lips quirk into that half-smile that never fails to make my heart skip. "I occasionally have good ideas."
"Very occasionally," I tease, and he pulls me closer.
"We could host it at the main house at my location. The renovations for the first floor are nearly complete."
I nod, warming to the idea. "We could invite the town council, the school board, neighbors—show everyone we're united."
"Ex actly." His hands slide up my back. "And it would give you a chance to wear that blue dress again."
"The one from our Atlanta trip?"
"Mmm." His eyes darken. "The one that's been haunting my dreams."
Heat blooms in my cheeks. "Odin..."
"What?" His voice is a low rumble that vibrates through me. "I'm not allowed to fantasize about my fiancée?"
The word 'fiancée' sends a jolt through me—equal parts thrill and unease. This charade is becoming dangerously comfortable.
"We should start planning," I say, trying to redirect my thoughts. "If we want to beat the magazine deadline, we'll need to move quickly."
"I'll call a party planner tomorrow." He releases me reluctantly and returns to unpacking groceries. "Tonight, let's just enjoy the quiet."
I watch him move around the kitchen, the domesticity of the scene making my chest ache with longing. In another life, this wouldn't be pretend.
"I'll help with dinner," I offer, moving to his side.
We work in companionable silence, chopping vegetables and searing steaks. Odin opens the wine, pouring two glasses.
"To our engagement party," he says, raising his glass.
I clink mine against his. "To controlling the narrative."
His eyes hold mine over the rim of his glass, and I feel that familiar pull between us—the gravity that keeps drawing us together despite all the reasons we should stay apart.
After dinner, we move to the couch with the remainder of the wine. Odin pulls out his tablet, and we start brainstorming for the party.
"Wh at about here for the venue?" I suggest, pointing to the main house on the property.
"Perfect. We can showcase the restoration work and give people a preview of what the hotel will look like."
I lean against his shoulder, scrolling through catering options. "Small plates, I think. Nothing too formal."
"Agreed." His arm slides around me. "And live music."
I look up at him. "Will you play?"
A shadow crosses his face. "I don't know, Nic."
"You were amazing at the stadium in Atlanta." I turn to face him fully. "Your voice, Odin... it's a gift."
"A gift I put away for good reason."
I place my hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "I know. But maybe it's time to share it again—on your terms."
He covers my hand with his. "I'll think about it."
We continue planning, the wine and proximity making me increasingly aware of every point where our bodies touch. When Odin's phone rings, I'm almost grateful for the interruption.
He glances at the screen. "It's Mom. Probably about Stevie."
While he takes the call, I clear our wine glasses and rinse them in the sink. Through the window, I can see the outline of my house in the moonlight, the tarp covering the damaged section fluttering in the breeze.
"Mom's keeping Stevie overnight," Odin says, coming up behind me. "Apparently, they're in the middle of a princess movie marathon that cannot be interrupted."
I smile. "Your mom is amazing with her."
"She is." His hands settle on my shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the knots of tension. "You're tense."
"Ju st thinking about everything we need to do."
His thumbs work deeper, and I can't help the small moan that escapes me.
"We don't have to figure it all out tonight," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
I lean back into him, letting my eyes close as his hands move down my arms. "The magazine, the party, my house repairs..."
"All manageable." His lips brush my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "One step at a time."
I turn in his arms, meeting his gaze. The intensity I find there steals my breath.
"Odin..."
He cups my face, thumb tracing my lower lip. "Tell me to stop, and I will."
But I don't want him to stop. I want to forget about magazines and parties and pretending. I want this—him—to be real.
I rise on my tiptoes and press my lips to his.
The kiss starts gentle but quickly ignites into something more desperate. Odin lifts me onto the counter, stepping between my legs as his mouth devours mine. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.
"I've been wanting to do this all day," he growls against my lips.
"What stopped you?" I gasp as his mouth trails down my neck.
His hands slide under my shirt, palms hot against my skin. "You were grading papers. I was trying to be respectful."
I laugh, the sound turning into a moan as his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts. "Since when are you respectful?"
He pulls back, eyes blazing. "I'm always respectful with you, Nic."
The sincerity in his voice makes my heart clench. I pull him back to me, kissing him deeply.
"Not tonight," I whisper against his mouth. "Tonight, I don't want respectful."
Something primal flashes in his eyes. In one fluid motion, he lifts me off the counter. I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to the bedroom, our mouths never separating.
He lays me on the bed with surprising gentleness, then stands to pull his shirt over his head. The sight of his bare chest—lean and muscled—makes my mouth go dry.
"Your turn," he says, voice rough.
I sit up, slowly unbuttoning my blouse, watching his eyes darken with each inch of skin revealed. When I'm down to my bra, he rejoins me on the bed, hands and mouth exploring newly exposed territory.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs against my collarbone.
His reverence makes me bold. I push him onto his back, straddling his hips as I unhook my bra. The groan that escapes him when my breasts are bared sends a surge of heat between my legs.
"Nicola," he breathes, hands sliding up to cup me. "You're perfect."
I rock against him, feeling his hardness through our remaining clothes. His hands move to my hips, guiding my movements as we build a rhythm that has us both gasping.
When I can't stand the barriers anymore, I climb off him to remove my pants and underwear. Odin does the same, and then we're skin to skin, nothing between us but the electricity that's been building since that first kiss in the snow.
His fingers find me first, exploring and teasing until I'm writhing beneath him. When he finally enters me, the sensation is so overwhelming that I cry out, nails digging into his sh oulders.
"Okay?" he asks, stilling inside me.
"More than okay," I gasp. "Don't stop."
He begins to move, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency as we find our rhythm. The world narrows to just this—his body moving with mine, his breath hot against my neck, the building pressure that threatens to consume me.
When I finally shatter, it's with his name on my lips. He follows moments later, face buried in my hair as he pulses inside me.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, skin cooling in the night air. Odin traces patterns on my back, his touch gentle now where it was urgent before.
"We should plan engagement parties more often," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
I laugh softly. "If this is what happens during the planning stage, I'm not sure we'll survive the actual event."
He pulls me closer. "I'm willing to risk it."
In the quiet that follows, reality begins to seep back in. This isn't real—the engagement, the future we're planning. It's all for show.
But as Odin's breathing evens out beside me, his arm heavy across my waist, I can't help but wish it were.
Because falling in love with my fake fiancé wasn't part of the plan.