Chapter 21 Olivia
OLIVIA
Rapt by the sight before me, I stop in the doorway, completely gawking.
Two men—equally striking, equally magnetic—stand side by side at the stove, mid-conversation.
Bas and Alec. Their silver hair gleams under the kitchen light, their voices rich and animated as they talk, hands flying in the air for emphasis.
Every few seconds, one reaches out to touch the other. A hand at the waist, a brush of fingers along an arm, a light squeeze at the shoulder. It’s not for show. It’s instinctual. Natural.
Love radiates from them. Real, enduring, unapologetic love.
I never thought of myself as the kind of person who’d stare at another couple like a voyeur, but Jesus, as the heat rises to my cheeks, I’m tempted to grab a glass of wine and a seat.
There’s something mesmerizing about them.
How they move in sync, the easy intimacy, the quiet devotion threaded through every glance.
It makes you yearn for what they have, not in a jealous way, but in that deep, aching way that reminds you every person deserves to be seen like that. Loved like that.
Alec is tall and fit, his wavy silver hair neat but relaxed. The gray scruff along his jaw softens his debonair features, and his hazel eyes are warm, alive.
Bas, on the other hand, is all rough edges and quiet power. Ruggedly handsome, with sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw dusted with stubble, and striking blue eyes that miss nothing. Together, they’re a study in contrast and connection.
The air hums with the scent of something rich and savory simmering on the stove. Alec stirs while Bas shuffles to a chair, draping a blanket over his shoulders. It’s sweltering outside—humid, thick air clinging to every surface—yet he’s layered up, cocooned in warmth.
Up close, I can see the toll. Even beneath the extra clothes, he looks small.
His clothes wear him. His skin has that pale, fragile hue I remember too well.
My chest tightens. I don’t need anyone to tell me what he’s fighting; I can see it in the way Alec hovers close, in the fatigue that shadows Bas’s eyes.
We lost my father to cancer. Watching this hits something deep inside me, familiar and painful. I wish I could take it away for them—the helplessness, the fear that never really leaves.
“Bas, Alec.” Sam slides past me into the kitchen, his voice warm and proud. “This is Olivia.”
The tenderness and, dare I say, pride in his voice is undeniable and thaws any lingering frost from last night.
Both men turn to us, smiles breaking wide. They greet me with open arms and the full French treatment. Cheek kisses, laughter, affection that feels genuine. There’s no awkwardness, no hesitation. Just welcome.
Before I know it, we’re outside on the deck, the late morning air wrapping around us. I’m tucked beside Sam on a wooden bench, his thigh pressed lightly against mine. Alec sits opposite in a Muskoka chair, Bas beside him, still bundled in his blanket despite the sticky July heat.
He doesn’t look good, and my heart twists.
Alec gestures toward me, his accent smooth and deep, like melted chocolate. “So, Olivia, tell us what you’ve been up to since arriving.”
I smile, brushing a stray hair from my face, trying to keep the lump in my throat at bay. “Honestly? Eating too much, sleeping too little, and following this one around like his groupie.”
I nudge Sam with my shoulder, and Bas lets out a soft laugh, the sound low and genuine.
It feels easy, pure, like I’ve been part of this world longer than a day.
But beneath the laughter, a quiet truth pulses inside me.
A love like this—steady, enduring, defiant—is rare.
And sitting here among them, I can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Sam and I could find a version of it for ourselves.
Albeit awkwardly, I break the lull in conversation. “We went to dinner with the Thibaults.”
“Daniel and Yasmine?” Bas’s tone sharpens immediately. Sam and I both nod.
Bas exhales hard through his nose, frustration flashing across his features. “Sam, I told you to walk away. They’re bad news, trust me.”
He pushes himself up slowly from his chair, Alec moving as if to steady him, but Bas waves him off. He walks to the deck railing, shoulders slightly hunched, hands curling in on themselves. Even sick, there’s a fierceness about him that commands attention.
“The Thibaults will promise the world and hand you the bill when it all burns down.” His back remains to us, and I imagine his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the backyard. “Fine, don’t trust me—but talk to Sal Lyons before you do anything.”
Sam frowns. “Sal? Why?”
“Daniel invested in his first restaurant, Voltaire. Ask him about it.”
Sam’s brows pull together. “Voltaire? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Exactly.” Bas’s glare reinforces his ire.
The silence that follows is thick enough to touch. I wish I knew more about why Bas despises Daniel Thibault so much. I don’t particularly dislike the man, and I’m not biased when it comes to his daughter so I’m curious. But judging by the tension rolling off him, now isn’t the time to pry.
Alec steps closer, resting a gentle hand on Bas’s shoulder. The touch is tender, grounding. “All right, mon c?ur, let’s not ruin a good afternoon with bad memories.”
Bas sighs, his shoulders sagging, and Alec gives him a soft smile before smoothly steering the conversation elsewhere.
“Bas, Alec.” I seize the moment to lighten the mood. “Maybe you can help me out with something.”
Three sets of eyes turn to me. I grin, feeling playful. “I’d love a little dirt on Sam. What was he like as a teen? Anything I should know or use for leverage later?”
Bas chuckles, a twinkle brightening his tired blue eyes. “Ah, Samson, I like this one.” He winks at me. “Ma chérie, I could tell you many things.”
The term of endearment catches me off guard—gentle, affectionate—and it melts something inside me. Bas’s warmth, his immediate acceptance, feels like a quiet blessing.
“Hey, let’s stop right there,” Sam cuts in, narrowing his eyes at his father.
I laugh, feigning innocence. “Nope. I think Bas and I need to talk.”
I make a move to stand, but Sam’s quicker. His hands find my waist, and before I can take my next breath, he’s pulling me down onto his lap.
“Nice try.” His breath is warm against my ear and sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Sam.” My warning slips out more breath than threat.
His fingers skim my sides, and I jerk involuntarily, squealing. “Oh my God, stop—stop. I’m ticklish.”
That’s all the invitation he needs. He laughs, delighted, as I wriggle helplessly in his grip. “Then you shouldn’t have told me that.” His deep chuckle rumbles against my back.
“Bas, help.” My laughter is more cry than anything else.
Alec comes to my rescue, swooping in with a roguish grin. “I’ve got this.” He darts forward and tickles Sam’s sides.
Sam yelps in surprise, jerking and laughing. “Arrête.” He throws up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, I give up.”
Our laughter fills the air, spilling out into the open like something alive.
Bas clings to the railing, still chuckling, deep lines of mirth etching his features. But beneath the joy, there’s something else. A shadow, faint but unmistakable, threading through his eyes and settling in the downturn of his smile.
My chest tightens. I can almost feel the weight of his thoughts—the quiet sadness of knowing moments like this are numbered. Of watching life continue and realizing that, someday soon, you might not be there to see it.
Bas straightens, his expression softening but tone resolute. “Garde cette femme.”
It takes me a second to register the words. My French isn’t perfect, but I’m pretty sure it means keep this woman.
Sam straightens, the laughter fading from his face. The two of them lock eyes, a whole conversation passing between them without a single word spoken. Then Sam nods once, slow and deliberate. A promise.
When his gaze shifts to me, it’s softer, more open. A small smile curves his lips, but there’s something deeper behind it, something that makes my stomach flutter and my heart twist all at once.
“Samson hated his name.” Bas’s tone drifts as if speaking half to us and half to memory.
I tilt my head to one side, not quite understanding. “He did?”
A faint smile ghosts over Bas’s features. “When he was a teenager, he insisted everyone call him Sam. Wouldn’t answer to his given name. A formidable, noble name, Samson. Alec respected his wishes, but I refused.”
Sam chuckles, a quiet, self-conscious sound. His eyes stay fixed on Bas, filled with affection and something like awe.
“What happened?” I ask, unable to help myself. I want to know everything about him—his past, his hurts, the small details that made him the man sitting beside me.
“After a year of it, I’d had enough. He was sulky and difficult. Stubborn.” His eyes glint toward Sam, amused. “So I sat him down and told him his name was something to be proud of. To cherish. To live up to.”
Bas’s tone softens. “It was his grand-mère’s maiden name. His dear, poor mother’s family name.”
He pauses. The words seem to pull something from deep within him, leaving the air around us heavy and still.
“She gave him that name,”—his voice drops, more reverent, intense—“because she wanted him to have a piece of her. A reminder of where he came from. Proof that he was loved—fully, fiercely. That even if she couldn’t stay, he’d always carry her with him.”
A silence falls, long and reverent. The only sound is the faint rustle of leaves in the summer breeze.
Across from me, Alec’s expression is pensive, his hand resting lightly on Bas’s back. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes say enough—understanding, pride, sorrow.
Bas and Sam hold each other’s gaze, their connection so intense it feels like we’re intruding. Their eyes speak in a language I can’t translate, something old and sacred, bound by love and history. I wish I could understand it. I wish I had the key to whatever’s passing between them.
The moment stretches until Bas finally pats the railing. “Enough of this heavy talk, we need food for dinner.”
And just like that, the spell breaks.
“More food? Wasn’t that dinner on the stove?” I point toward the house, the kitchen, recalling the rich aroma when we first arrived.
“Bah, that’s not all of it.” Bas straightens slowly. “We can never have enough food.”
We laugh and pile into the car, spending the rest of the day winding through the city’s markets, Atwater first, then Jean-Talon.
The air is thick with the scent of baked bread, ripe peaches, and smoked meats.
Sam and Bas debate produce like two generals at war, while Alec keeps slipping extra pastries into the basket when Bas isn’t looking.
I trail beside them, smiling until my cheeks ache, soaking it all in. The enjoyment, the teasing, the casual affection that binds them. It feels like family, real and unvarnished, the kind of day that etches itself into memory without you realizing it.
By the time we return home, the trunk is full and the sun’s slipping low.
Inside, the kitchen comes alive with the clatter of pots and the hiss of olive oil hitting the pan.
Alec opens wine, Bas barks gentle orders from his seat, and Sam moves around him with the ease of someone who’s been learning this dance all his life.
And I watch them—the three of them together—and it hits me how rare this is. How precious. Life’s fragile and fast, but this… This kind of love makes the fleeting moments worth everything.