Bonus Chapter
OLIVIA
Five Years Later
Life feels different these days. Or maybe I’m the one who’s different now.
The hotel’s expansion project just launched, which is a ridiculous reminder that full circles happen whether you’re ready or not. A few years ago, the beginning of this project was the one thing that made me want to be in Tacoon, besides the obvious other reasons. And now, it’s finally done.
Perfect time, because my agency has grown so much since moving its headquarters here. Work’s non-stop now. Lily’s coffee shop is now one of the biggest clients; she’s even expanding outside of town.
The boys are thriving, and for the first time in a long time, life feels… steady. Peaceful, even.
Which is probably why the universe decided tonight was the night Ethan would text me.
We haven’t talked in about three years, maybe even closer to four.
Our last conversations were merely business.
I did send a happy birthday text four years ago; he did the same.
We said happy holidays, but after that… nothing.
Radio silence. Healing silence. Or so I told myself.
The thing about seeing his name on my phone is that I don’t know what to expect. And I hate that my mind still goes everywhere.
Ethan: Hey, how are you? I’m in town for a few days, and was wondering if you would have dinner with me? I have a place in mind, but wanted to ask you first. If you don’t want to, I understand. But I would love to see you.
Oh, that’s the text. See, that’s the thing.
This could mean so many things. It could mean, ‘hey, I’m moving to Tacoon, just wanted to give you a heads up’, or ‘hey, we’ll be working together in another project, just so you know’, or whatever.
Of course, my mind goes to a third option, that’s more ‘hey, I missed you, I still love you, and I’m sorry.
’ Fuck. It’s been almost four years without any contact at all.
Why do I still feel like this? He hurt me so badly, and I still think about him every single day.
Anyway, I went ahead and replied like an adult who hasn’t been overthinking this text and has moved on.
Me: Hey, is there wine at this place you were thinking? Because I’ll need wine.
Ethan: There will always be wine, Liv.
‘Liv’, I hate that I remembered how my name sounded on his lips.
Me: Good, send me the address and the time.
As soon as I sent that text, I regretted it. And it’s not because I don’t want to have dinner with him, it’s just hard. We haven’t seen each other in over six years, and I don’t know what to expect out of this.
I’ve healed, I’ve moved on, from him, from my old life.
I’m happy and content with what I have right now, thanks mainly to therapy.
But we were friends once, and after all this time, I feel like we owe each other the chance to talk.
And drink wine, which explains why I’m standing outside a little cliffside restaurant overlooking the water.
The same water that once witnessed a very messy, foolish version of us.
I smooth my dress, inhale deeply, and step inside. He’s already waiting for me.
And holy hell.
Five years have done some things to him. His beard is a little fuller, hair way shorter, shoulders broader, the kind of glow-up that makes you want to sue the universe for emotional damages. He stands when he sees me, and something in my chest stutters violently.
Nope, don’t go there again.
“Liv,” he says, softly. Oh shit. “Hey,” I answer, even softer, because apparently my lungs have decided to stop functioning.
We sit. The waiter brings a bottle of wine.
He ordered my favorite wine, but I acted like I didn’t notice.
We start talking about nothing and everything all at once.
Like time hasn’t passed, which is one of the things I hate and love most about him.
We can talk for hours about everything, like we didn’t hurt each other.
We talk about work, the new opportunities with the projects. About the fantastic job his stepsiblings have done. We talked about our kids, his co-parenting schedule with Hannah after the divorce, which was finalized two years ago. I already knew this information, but I acted surprised.
By the time the bottle is nearly empty, we’re lighter, looser… stupid even. He leans back, smirking. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Me? You haven’t texted or called. I wasn’t going to. But that doesn’t mean I’ve been avoiding you.” I say, shrugging. “It just felt safer that way.”
His eyes keep dropping to my mouth when he talks, and I don’t know if it’s the wine or if it’s seeing him again after all these years, but that’s making me feel things that I don’t want to feel.
His smile keeps slipping into something familiar, something that lived under my skin long before I knew pain had a name. Ethan.
The bottle of wine turns into two, because neither of us is ready to end the conversation, or the night. “You know,” he murmurs, swirling what’s left on the glass, “after all this time, you’re still it to me, Liv.”
It hits low in my stomach, absolutely unwanted.
I nod, smiling with my lips and not my heart, because we can’t do this again.
If I allow this conversation to continue, it will end one of two ways.
On a bed, or with a heartbreak, and neither of those is a good idea right now.
“Ethan, please don’t. We don’t have to do this again. ”
“Do what, Liv? Tell the truth of how we feel about each other, even after everything?” Why is he talking in the plural tense? He disappeared for years again and expects me to be okay with everything just because we shared two bottles of wine and a four-hour conversation.
“Don’t put words in my mouth. Don’t talk like you know what I’m thinking or feeling, because you don’t.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not what I wanted to do. I just… I know what I feel, and what I’ve been thinking for the last five years, hell, for the past twenty-five years, Olivia.” This man is going to be the death of me.
“Look, I get it. You’ve missed me, or the idea of me, or having me. I did too, twenty-five years ago, and sixteen, and ten, and five, maybe even three years ago. But I’ve moved on.” I can see him struggling to find the words to respond to what I just said. But he needed to hear it.
“Can I ask you a question?” Nope, you can’t. “Sure,” I said instead. Fuck me.
“Do you still love me?” Well, time to be honest and hope for the best. “Of course, I still love you, Ethan. I will always love you. But that doesn’t mean I want to go there again.”
He nods, and I can see the pain behind his eyes.
“I told you I wanted to get my shit together, and I did. I’m not expecting you to come back to me just because.
But I have loved you for over twenty-five years, Olivia.
We were married to other people, we had kids, and I still feel the same about you.
No time can change that. I know I messed up badly.
I know I broke your heart twice, and I will ask for your forgiveness forever if needed.
I’m truly sorry for not loving you in the way you deserve. ”
And that’s what hit me. He is saying precisely what I wanted to hear years ago.
I drink what’s left in my wine glass, take a deep breath, and open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
My mind goes blank, I can’t breathe, and I can feel my eyes getting watery.
So, I swallow and nod. “Understood. Want to get going?” I nod and stand up.
He sets cash on the table, and we’re off.
By the time we step outside, the sun is long gone, and Tacoon feels cold and dark.
We stroll toward the parking lot, neither of us moving away.
If anything, we keep drifting closer, like gravity finally gave up pretending it can keep us away.
He stops first. “Liv,” he whispers, like he’s afraid I might run.
“It was really nice seeing you, thank you for allowing me to talk, and say sorry again.” I step closer to him.
“I needed this too.” I’ve loved him for so long that I don’t know how not to love him anymore.
God, I want to kiss him so bad. I can see everything that’s left to be said in his eyes, and I swear he hears my thoughts because his hands cup my jaw, and I let out the smallest breath. But I don’t move.
His mouth crashes into mine, and time snaps. It’s desperate and rough, years of restraint burning off in seconds. His hands are everywhere. On my waist, my hair, the small of my back, he’s pulling me in like he’s been waiting for this moment for all these years.
I kiss him back like I’ve been waiting for the same thing, because I have.
I know that what we had wasn’t supposed to happen, at least not in the way it did.
I blamed him for a while, but I was no saint in that equation.
We both made our choices; mine weren’t as bad as his.
But they were choices regardless of the result.
The world tilts when he kisses me again.
My back hits his truck, and I can feel his body caging mine, heat and strength and memory all tangled up on this kiss.
I tug his shirt, he groans against my mouth, and it’s messy and breathless and terrifyingly perfect.
“Ethan…” My voice shakes, “Are we really doing this again?”
“Liv,” he murmurs, looking at me like the answer has lived in him his entire life, “I told you, I would fix my life, and be deserving of you.” My heart clenches so violently, I swear it fractures.
“And if you want me, I’m here.” It’s different this time; he seems so sure about what he is telling me.
It feels like he has actually been working on himself for years.
He kisses me again, harder this time. His hand slides up my thigh, gripping, dragging me against him, and any part of me that thought I was “stable” or “mature” disintegrates on the spot. It’s like we pushed a reset button, and suddenly we're becoming something new.