Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ETHAN
The phone buzzes just as I’m finishing my coffee.
Hannah
I stare at the screen longer than I should before picking up. “Hey.”
“Morning.” Her voice is calm, too calm. That tone she uses when she’s trying hard not to sound like she’s bracing for something. “So, I talked to Agnes,” she says. “She can’t bring the girls. She’s flying out tomorrow for a work trip.” I rub the back of my neck. “Okay… so what’s the plan?”
“I thought I’d bring them. I can fly in and out the same day.” My stomach tightens. The idea of having both Hannah and Olivia in the same place at the same time is not great. It can become messy quickly.
“Hannah, that’s a long-ass day. I won’t let you put yourself through that.” There’s a pause, “I figured you’d rather I didn’t show up at all.”
“This isn’t about us,” I say. “It’s about the girls.” And I mean it. “Bring them,” I add. “But don’t rush back. You can stay the night and take the morning flight the next day.”
Another beat. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll book it.” After we hang up, I text Olivia.
Me: Hey. Update. Hannah’s bringing the girls. She’ll stay the night and fly out the next morning. Just keeping you in the loop.
Olivia: Thanks for the heads-up. I’m slammed with meetings, but come by later?
Me: Bringing wine.
My next call is with Audrey. She’s still out of town sourcing for the hotel.
“We got the reclaimed wood,” she says, all business.
“Good texture, warm tone, matches your moody-ass Pinterest board.” We run through supplier timelines, lobby layout tweaks, and punch-list items. She’s excited. I try to keep up.
Phone buzzes again—
Agnes
“Hey, trouble,” she says. “Sorry, I really wanted to bring the girls, but I’m slammed.”
“No sweat. Hannah’s coming instead.”
“Oof,” she says, and I can hear her wince. “You good with that?” I lean back in my chair. “Not thrilled. But it’s fine. I haven’t seen them in two weeks. I’ll take what I can get.”
“You want me to fly out after my trip?” she asks. “Keep you sane? Bring snacks? Judge your life choices in person?” I laugh. “Actually, yeah. You can finally meet Olivia.” There’s a beat of dramatic pause. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for that. Count me in.”
By the time I pull into Olivia’s driveway, the sun’s already going down. She’s at the dining table, hair piled on her head like it’s holding her brain together, typing like she’s running out of time. I drop my keys, walk over, and gently shut her laptop.
She blinks up at me. “Hey.”
“Yeah, no,” I say, already grabbing the wine bottle and two glasses. “You’ve been doing this all day. You need air. Blanket. Stars. Me.”
Five minutes later, we’re on the back porch, under that old quilt she never actually washes. The sky’s clear. The wine’s cold. Her body’s warm against mine. “I heard from Hannah,” I say, eyes on the sky. “She’s flying in with the girls tomorrow.” Olivia doesn’t flinch, sips her wine. “Okay.”
“You sure?” She sighs. “I’m dealing with enough of my own crap,” she says. “She’s your wife. I’m not here to make it harder.”
“But this—”
She shakes her head. “Don’t. We don’t need to talk about it. Not tonight at least.” She leans into me. I kiss the top of her head, then her temple. She turns to me, and that’s it. We’re kissing, and it feels like the world just went quiet for us.
She gets on top of me, shifting her hips over mine.
The blanket slips slightly as she moves again, rolling her hips in a way that makes me grip her tighter.
My head falls back against the wood. She leans forward, mouth trailing down my neck, her hair spilling over my shoulder like silk. “You're driving me insane,” I groan.
I pull the blanket tighter around us, like we can trap this moment and never let it go. My hands roam over her bare back, the swell of her ass, the soft press of her breasts against my chest. Every inch of her is mine and not mine at the same time.
She grabs me, eyes locked on mine, and guides me to her entrance, already soaked, ready for me.
I groan, low and broken, and grip her hips as I pull her down onto me in one swift thrust. We both gasp.
God, she feels so fucking good stretching around me.
Her forehead presses to mine as she starts to move.
She rides me like she wants to feel every inch, every pulse.
Our mouths are open but wordless, breath catching between us, broken only by the quiet sound of her moans.
She picks up pace, grinding faster, and something in me snaps.
I flip her onto her back, blanketed beneath me, and drive into her, hard, deep.
She cries out my name, “Ethan—,” breathless, wrecked.
“Be quiet, Liv,” I whisper against her neck.
I grab a pillow from the couch and slide it under her hips, lifting her just enough.
I start to move, slow at first, working on my pace. She moans again.
“Liv,” I warn, my voice low and sharp, “I said quietly. I don’t want to hear a sound.” She nods quickly, lips parted, already trembling. Her body quakes beneath me, her moans caught in her throat, her fingers twitching in my grip. As she finishes, she stays quiet, just like I told her.
But her eyes scream everything I already know.
She’s mine.
The house is still dark when I slip out of bed, Olivia curled into the pillow.
Her hair’s a mess. She looks peaceful. Which is dangerous, because I’m getting used to this.
I tug on sweats, pad into the kitchen, and start breakfast. Pancakes.
Eggs, I’ll probably screw up. Coffee, because we’re both useless without it.
She walks in a few minutes later, eyes sleepy, hair everywhere, wearing one of my t-shirts.
“Morning,” I say, handing her a mug. She leans in and kisses my jaw. “You’re cooking?”
“Trying to,” I mutter. “No promises on the eggs.”
We eat in silence and then get ready for the day. She stays behind, and I head to the site for a check-in with Josh. It’s the usual: timelines, delays, Audrey’s notes from her latest design deep-dive.
By noon, I’m standing in the terminal. Then I hear it—two high-pitched voices scream “Daddy!” and it’s game over. I drop everything.
They crash into me, arms wrapped tight, little faces pressed to my neck.
I haven’t seen them in two weeks, and it feels like years.
Hannah follows behind, dressed in jeans and a soft sweater, looking good, happy like she’s fine.
Like we’re fine. “Hey,” she says, pulling me into a hug.
Her cheek brushes mine as she kisses the corner of my mouth. “Hey,” I say. “Flight, okay?”
“Easier than expected.” She bends to fix one of the girls’ jackets.
“Thanks for letting me bring them.” We grab lunch downtown.
The girls are full of stories—new swings at school, some boy named Colin who only speaks in a robot voice.
Hannah talks about her job, the gallery, and how it feels good to build something of her own.
And I listen. I really do. I’m proud of her.
But it all feels… far. Like I’m watching someone else’s life from the outside.
Back at my dad’s house, he whisks them off on a made-up “treasure hunt,” and I catch Hannah watching him like she’s remembering a time when this felt easier.
Later, I hear the shower shut off in the guesthouse.
Hannah walks out in leggings and a black tank top, hair wet, skin glowing in that familiar way that used to stop me in my tracks.
I still notice. Of course I do. I’m not blind.
She’s beautiful, and she is my wife. And this part of my life?
It still exists. This love doesn’t just vanish because we’re figuring things out.
Dinner was great, Maggie showed up. The girls are running barefoot in the yard. It’s easy. This version of life is the one I used to know.
After, I help Hannah bring the bags into the guesthouse. “You sure you want to crash in Leo’s room?” she teases. “This feels like punishment, just sleep with us.” We arranged the storage room so they could stay here, with two twin beds and a tiny nightstand.
Hannah is putting the girls to sleep, and I can hear them fighting even though they’re exhausted. I’m in the other room in bed, going through emails and tomorrow's to-do list. “They are finally asleep,” she let out an exhale and dropped to the bed next to me.
She rolls toward me, fingers brushing my shirt.
“Did you miss me?” And of course I did, I do, every day.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Of course I’ve missed you.
” Then she kisses me. But she’s guarded.
It’s like she’s asking for my permission to kiss me.
And for a second, just a split second, I let her, and I kiss her back.
I love this woman, and in a perfect life, I could have both of them.
But in reality, I know I can’t, so just before the moment it gets more intense, I stop.
I press my forehead to hers. “I can’t.” She pulls back just a little, eyes glossy but steady. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” I say. “Don’t be. It wasn’t just you. It was both of us.” I sit up. Swing my legs over the side of the bed. “It’s just that I don’t want to mess things up. You asked for a break, and I’m trying to respect that. I’ll take the couch.” She nods. “Okay.”
The couch is too small. The cushions suck. But I lie down anyway and stare at the ceiling.
Everything aches. But I made the right call.
I wake up with a stiff neck, the sunlight stabbing through the curtains like it has something to prove. I groan, sit up slowly, and try to remember what day it is. What version of me am I supposed to be?
When I make it into the main house, the girls are already up, mid-bite, cereal all over the table. Hannah and my dad are laughing like this is just some Tuesday morning in 2018. Maggie’s just walked in, bag dropped on the floor, animated as hell.