Chapter 7 #2
She is pushing, watching me expectantly, waiting for me to offer a response, reminiscent of last night’s promise. If she thinks I will give away my leverage and the one thing I fear might end this all too soon—my age—she’s sadly mistaken.
Then she tilts her head, playful. “So how old are you, anyway?”
“You didn’t Google me?”
“No. I wanted to.” She nibbles on her plump bottom lip. “I almost did.”
I laugh softly. “Then you’ll have to wait.”
Her age doesn’t bother me at all. It’s her hang-up, but it bugs me that age is an issue to her. I don’t want her hesitant.
I’ve never been one for an easy lay, and perhaps it’s what she thinks I want.
Sure, I’ve had my share of one-night stands, but they were few and far between.
While I love sex as much as the next guy, I want to know who I’m sharing a bed with.
It doesn’t have to be long-term, but I want some kind of connection, if only for the night.
With Olivia, I want to know her. Badly. The want digs deep, steady, relentless, impossible to shake. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. Now I understand fully what it means to have someone under your skin.
The server returns with dessert, and I use the moment to change direction. “Tell me something that would surprise me.”
She doesn’t pause for a breath, her gaze pointed. “I have two kids.”
The air shifts. She straightens and squares her shoulders as if expecting me to throw down my napkin and storm out on her.
I hold her gaze, steady, giving her something steady to lean on. “Tell me about them.”
“I have a son and a daughter. Drew’s nineteen and just finished his first year of university.
Paige is sixteen going on thirty. She’s in high school and doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life except torment her mother.
” Her tone carries an edge of exasperation, though it’s easy to see her pride and love for her children.
Her eyes are luminous, and her smile grows as she continues. “Drew is smart, level-headed, and my rock. Paige is my sweet girl, lots of fun, and always up to something, but…” Her smile falls a bit.
I wait anxiously, hoping she’ll continue. She doesn’t. Instead, she picks up her coffee cup, and her pink lips pucker, blowing over the surface of the hot liquid. Holding it together takes every ounce of control I have while her lips tease the rim of that mug.
Settling back into my seat, I hope to put her at ease. “Go on.”
“We’re going through a rough patch.” Now she looks down at her plate in quiet contemplation. “It’s…complicated.”
I want to reach across the table again, to reassure her, to let her know she’s safe here. “Every family has them. Drew sounds like a good guy. What’s he studying?”
She gives me a grateful smile and relaxes. “He wants to be a lawyer. He’s got his whole educational path mapped out.”
“And their father?”
“I’m divorced.” She blushes, shaking her head.
“Phew, I’m not out with a married woman.” I exaggerate wiping my brow, and she laughs at my antics. “Tell me about your passion. You know mine—what’s yours?”
Beaming, she relaxes. “I recently started my own business, Cassidy Designs. I’m an interior designer.”
“You like it?”
“Yes, very much so. I love it.”
“And you just started? Why not sooner?”
She pauses reflectively before answering, “I guess because after I graduated, I got married. At first, I worked at a design firm for a short while, but when I found out I was pregnant, starting a family became my priority.”
I nod, not knowing what it takes, but imagining the commitment and energy needed to raise children.
Then we move on to lighter things—more about her business, her love for design, how she built her company from scratch.
I listen, genuinely impressed. She has drive.
Fire. She’s the kind of woman who makes things happen. We have that in common.
On our walk back to her hotel, the air is warm and heavy, thick with the scent of street food. She lifts her hair off her neck, seeking relief from the heat. I want to reach for her, but I sense she needs the space to think, so I shove my hands into my pockets and keep pace beside her.
While we had a great lunch and she’s dropped the age thing for now, I sense it’s not been laid to rest.
In the lobby, she turns to me with a soft smile. “I had a great time.”
“I’m glad.” I take her hand, turning my palm up to link our fingers. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
Her laugh is light but uncertain. “Sam—”
“Just dinner.” It’s hard to leave it there when we both know whatever this is between us could be so much more.
She studies me, weighing something in her mind. “I live in Toronto. I leave Monday. I can’t do this.”
“Do what? Have dinner with me? What? You don’t eat? You have to eat.”
Rolling her eyes, she tugs at her hand and I deliberately let go, not wanting to freak her out. It’s plain to see she’s struggling with this.
“Olivia, it’s only dinner and you’re leaving. I get it. Tomorrow’s all we have.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t answer. The push and pull between us is palpable—her reason against my want.
“Besides,” I add, teasing lightly, “you still don’t know how old I am.”
Her eyes narrow. “You promised.”
“How old do you think I am?”
She taps her finger against her lips, pretending to think. “Twenty-eight.”
“Close.” I grin and pause for a beat or two, not sure what lies ahead once I let the proverbial genie out of the bottle. “Thirty.”
Her brows lift. “Really?”
Something shifts in her gaze, but I can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Say yes to dinner.”
A pause. Then…“Okay.” She smiles softly. “Tomorrow night.”
She rises up on her toes and presses a kiss to my cheek, quick but searing.
I don’t get the chance to respond. She’s gone, the elevators doors sealing shut on the words I never said. The lobby falls silent, her scent hanging in the air, my pulse still chasing hers.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m in trouble.
Real trouble.
Only this time, I’m not looking for a way out.