Chapter 6
Olivia
Olivia sat at the corner table of the fourth-floor restaurant, the leather-bound menu open in front of her. She was not reading a single word on the page. Her mind kept replaying the exact way James reacted when she walked into his office fifteen minutes ago.
His rigid posture. His cold tone. The urgency in his voice when he told her to leave. He had seemed alarmed, treating her arrival like an intrusion rather than a pleasant surprise.
She stared at the linen tablecloth, trying to rationalize his reaction. Maybe she startled him. Maybe he was in the middle of a crucial thought process for the Longford account. She should have texted first. Walking into an executive office without warning was crossing a professional boundary.
Beneath all those logical explanations, she just felt embarrassed. She had gone up to his floor hoping to surprise her husband with a nice lunch, and somehow she had left his office feeling like she had done something wrong.
James arrived ten minutes later. He slid into the chair across from her, looking impeccably composed but emotionally distant. He leaned over the table, pressing a brief, automatic kiss to her cheek.
"Is everything okay?" Olivia asked, trying to offer a genuine smile.
"Yes," James said, unfolding his napkin and placing it on his lap. "It was just work."
Olivia tried her best to make the lunch feel normal.
She asked about his morning meetings and mentioned a new supplier she was interviewing for the bakery.
"I just thought it would be nice for us to have lunch together," she added, her voice carrying a vulnerability she could not quite hide.
"We have barely had any time alone lately. "
James gave a vague nod. "Things are busy right now, Liv." He tapped the screen of his phone, scrolling through a message before setting the device face-down on the table.
"I am sorry if I interrupted something earlier," Olivia said, watching his face carefully. "You seemed really upset when I came in."
James sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I was focused. You caught me at a bad moment. Not everything has to mean something."
Olivia swallowed the lump forming in her throat.
She wanted to argue. She wanted to ask why he was treating her like an inconvenience.
But she did not want to cause a scene in public, and she refused to seem insecure again after what happened at the company dinner.
She did not want to become the wife who constantly needed reassurance.
She picked up her fork, pushing a piece of grilled chicken around her plate.
A few minutes later, James’s phone lit up on the table. He reacted fast, grabbing the device and angling the screen away from her view before sliding it into his jacket pocket. It was a fast, guarded movement.
A new twist of discomfort bloomed in Olivia’s chest. "Is something wrong?"
"No," James replied, not looking her in the eyes. "Just work."
She almost asked if it was Amanda. The question burned on her tongue. She forced herself to hold it back. She did not want to sound jealous.
James checked his watch and pushed his half-empty plate away. "I have to get back to the office. We have a conference call in ten minutes."
Olivia tried not to show her disappointment. She placed her fork down. "I understand."
"Thanks for coming by," he said, standing up. The gratitude sounded distracted. It lacked any real sincerity. He turned and walked out of the restaurant, leaving her sitting at the table alone.
After paying the bill, Olivia walked out to the parking garage.
She got into her car, gripping the steering wheel.
She sat there in the dim concrete structure, letting the humiliation and confusion wash over her.
It was a terrible, hollow ache. She was trying so hard to reach him, and he just kept stepping farther away.
***
By three o'clock, Olivia was back in the bakery kitchen.
She tried to bury herself in the work. She checked the weekend custom orders, helped Sam prep the fruit fillings, reviewed the flour inventory, and answered catering emails.
The kitchen was the only place where she knew exactly what to do with her hands, her mind, and her time.
She was whisking a batch of lemon glaze when Maria walked up to the prep station.
"You are a million miles away today, Liv," Maria noted, picking up a spatula and helping her scrape down the sides of the metal bowl. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything is fine," Olivia insisted, focusing intently on the yellow glaze.
Maria gave her a knowing look. She did not push too hard, but she clearly sensed the lie. "Well, if you need a distraction, we need to talk about the cake competition. The board accepted our preliminary application."
Olivia stopped whisking. "Maria, there is no guarantee we will actually get into the final round."
"Stop hiding behind technicalities," Maria scolded gently. "They accepted the application. We are in the review stage. That means we need to start narrowing down the recipes we want to submit. You need to pick a flavor profile."
Olivia nodded, feeling a sharp pull of internal conflict. Here, she was talented, respected, and capable. In her personal life, she felt unwanted and uncertain.
She wiped her hands on a towel and pulled her phone from her apron pocket.
She had baked a test batch of shortbread earlier using the violet hybrid Leo brought her.
She snapped a picture of the cookies resting on a wire rack and sent it to him, trying to channel the playful energy they used to share.
The violet shortbread is a success. If you ask nicely, I might let you have one.
She slipped the phone back into her pocket and went back to work. Half an hour later, the device buzzed. She pulled it out, expecting a joke or a dramatic threat about him coming over to steal the entire tray.
Leo: Looks great, Liv. I’m glad the herbs worked.
Olivia stared at the message. There was no nickname. There was no teasing banter. He did not promise to come taste them.
An unnamed ache settled deep in her chest. It was a strange, disorienting feeling to miss someone who was technically still answering her texts.
Leo had not cut her off. He had not been cruel.
He had not vanished completely. But he had pulled back far enough for her to feel the vast, empty space where he used to be.
She thought about Brooklyn, the stunning, confident woman she had seen with him at the mall. She wondered if that was the reason Leo was acting different. Maybe he had finally found someone. Maybe he was building a real relationship. Olivia told herself she should be happy for him.
She wanted to be happy for him.
But a selfish little part of her missed being the person Leo always made time to see. She missed her best friend.
***
The house was dark when Olivia walked through the front door that evening. She turned on the kitchen lights and pulled the leftover chicken parmesan from the refrigerator, placing it on the counter to warm up.
James walked in an hour later. He dropped his keys on the entryway table and loosened his tie.
"I saved you some dinner," Olivia offered, gesturing to the plates.
"I am not hungry," James said, not breaking his stride as he walked toward the stairs. "I grabbed something at work. I am tired. I just want to shower and answer a few emails."
The house felt emotionally barren, a hollow shell shared by two people living separate lives.
Olivia followed him to the base of the stairs. "James, maybe we could plan something together this weekend. A dinner out. Or just a night here without our phones. We need to spend some time together."
James stopped on the first step, letting out an exhausted sigh. "We will figure something out, Liv."
He did not commit to a day. He did not suggest a place. The response was absent and dismissive.
Olivia wrapped her arms around her waist. "Do you still want this?"
James turned around, his brow furrowed in deep irritation. "What are you talking about?"
"This," Olivia clarified, her voice shaking just a fraction. "Us. Time together. Closeness."
"Why do you have to make everything so intense?" James snapped, his voice echoing in the foyer. "I am tired, Olivia. I had a grueling day. Not every long workday is a statement about the status of our marriage."
The words stung, twisting the blame right back onto her shoulders.
"I am sorry," Olivia whispered, apologizing even though she knew she had done nothing wrong.
The apology seemed to satisfy him. James softened just enough to keep her from pushing any further. He walked down the single step, leaned forward, and kissed her forehead. "I love you. We are fine."
He turned and walked up the stairs, leaving her standing alone in the foyer.
Olivia did not feel fine. She walked back into the kitchen, picking up the plate of dinner he did not want.
She wrapped the food in foil, her chest tight with fear and a profound, isolating loneliness.
She was trying everything she could to hold her life together, but it felt like it was slipping right through her fingers.