Chapter 7 Nova
nova
I wasn’t about to let my coworker know I was in the middle of the world’s biggest panic attack over my divorce papers when he walked—no, barged—into my flat like he owned the place.
I wasn’t about to let this man become privy to my deepest breakdowns, so it was easier to get dressed and do what he wanted to do than argue with him.
Plus, it pacified Luna, who was begging me to get out of the house and go on a walk to get fresh air.
At least my pregnancy nausea had subsided.
The rice kernel was the size of a peach, and although I was still pretty tired, I was starting to feel better physically. Emotionally, I was still a wreck.
When the divorce papers arrived finalized, it hit harder than I’d expected. It wasn’t that I didn’t want it to be over—I did. I needed it to be over. Seeing it written out, stamped, and legally done was like watching the last piece of my old life crumble to ash.
And yet, the peach rooting itself in my stomach whispered that I couldn’t escape my past completely. I still hadn’t told him—not even after Luna came with me to the last appointment. Not even when the doctor told me that at the next visit, I’d be able to find out the baby’s gender.
I stepped outside, Ollie trailing behind me.
He looked especially good today. Well, to be fair, he looked hot as fuck most days.
That was part of the problem—why I avoided him like the plague.
I couldn’t handle being around him, not with how ridiculously attractive he was on the pitch.
His body was a masterpiece of muscle and raw strength, all sharp edges and power. His legs alone could . . .
Nope. Nope.
Fuck.
The peach had also made me incredibly horny—like, embarrassingly so. At one point, the thought of Clive flashed through my mind as a desperate solution to my unspeakable need, and the sheer yuck of it had me gagging.
Still, fleeting as it was, the thought rattled me. I wasn’t myself. This peach, this pregnancy, this everything was messing with me in ways I wasn’t prepared for. And walking in front of Ollie, knowing how good he looked today, wasn’t helping. Not one bit.
“Where are we going?” I grumbled.
“Your roommate seems to think you need a walk.” Ollie slipped his hands into his jacket pocket.
“What do you think I need?”
Ollie grinned. “Fun.”
He wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t know where or how to even start finding it. Fun. The word felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else’s vocabulary.
I was so lost in thought that Ollie surprised me when he grabbed my hands, pulling me to a stop.
“Want to talk about it?”
We stood outside my neighborhood, but it felt like the world around us had disappeared. Just him and me, facing each other. I studied Ollie’s face—his sharp jawline and his deep, warm brown eyes. Without thinking, I reached up and pressed a hand to his cheek. It was warm and steady, like him.
The moment hung heavy between us, and I hesitated, realizing what I’d done. I pulled my hand away quickly. “Shit. Sorry.”
He smiled softly. “It’s okay, love.”
He leaned down, so slowly it felt like time itself stretched out, and rested his forehead gently against mine.
I froze.
I’d forgotten what this felt like. Companionship. Connection. The simple, grounding touch of another person.
I swallowed audibly. One more breath. One more heartbeat.
“No.” I pulled away, shaking my head as an unbidden, and unrealized, tear slid down my cheek. I wiped it quickly and took a deep breath to steady myself.
Ollie tilted his head, watching me carefully. “Tell me something you’d never say on a first date.”
“This isn’t a date,” I shot back, though my voice lacked its usual bite.
“You know what I meant.”
It had become a thing between us—sharing truths that felt too hard or too strange for anyone else to hear.
“H-he was an alcoholic. I watched as he did coke off a woman’s tits before throwing a glass in my direction.”
The weight of it hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Ollie didn’t flinch. His jaw tightened, his fists curling slightly, but his eyes stayed steady on mine, keeping me in the moment.
“He’s in rehab.” The words felt both heavy and hollow at the same time.
There were so many things left unsaid. As much as I never wanted him to be part of my life again, the peach growing inside me begged me to feel differently.
“I’m not sad about the divorce,” I added, my voice wavering a little. “But I am sad about what could have been there.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was thick with unspoken thoughts.
After a long pause, Ollie broke it. “Come with me. Spend a day off with me.”
I nodded, begrudgingly. Something about him made me cave, even when I didn’t want to.
“I’m not drinking. Just to let you know. New year, new me?”
His brows furrowed for a moment, his lips twitching like he was trying to make sense of me. He chuckled warmly. “Okay.”
Ollie glanced down at me. “I’ll be right back. Open your door.”
Before I could even ask what he meant, he plucked the key out of my hand and jogged back toward my flat, disappearing inside. I stood there, confused.
A few minutes later, he came back out with one of my bags in his hand and a bounce in his step.
“Get in.” He pointed to his car.
“What?” I blinked, completely baffled. “Where are we going?”
“Get in, Nova.” He smirked as he opened the passenger door for me like some kind of gentleman.
Against my better judgment, I slid into the seat, watching as he rounded the car and climbed in beside me.
It wasn’t a long drive, but every turn he made felt more confusing. Finally, we stopped outside a row of charming townhouses, the kind with ivy climbing up the brickwork and tidy little gardens out front.
Ollie hopped out, leaving me in the car, and a minute later, he reappeared, a backpack slung over his shoulder.
I crossed my arms as he slid back into the driver’s seat. “Where the hell are we going?”
“You’ll see.” His grin widened as he shifted the car into gear.
“Ollie.” I narrowed my eyes.
“Trust me, love.” His voice was warm but teasing. “You’re gonna like this.”
I huffed, leaning back into the seat, equal parts annoyed and intrigued. Whatever he had planned, I wasn’t sure whether to brace myself or relax. But there was something about the spark in his eyes that made me bite back my questions and let him drive.
Two hours later, we were still driving, and the peach was making me starved. My stomach grumbled loudly as I stared out the window at the countryside unfurling before us.
“Are we almost there? Where the hell are we?” I groaned, not bothering to hide the frustration in my voice.
Ollie glanced over, smirking like he was enjoying my misery.
The landscape changed the farther we drove from the city.
It was October, and the rolling hills were a patchwork of golds, deep reds, and burnt oranges, dotted with stone walls, sheep grazing lazily, and tons of cows.
Narrow, winding roads were lined with trees that arched overhead, their leaves fluttering down like confetti.
Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys of cottages with thatched roofs, their gardens bursting with the last blooms of the season.
“I feel like I’m being attacked by a faerie kingdom out here,” I muttered, half to myself.
Ollie chuckled, then turned down a long, gravel driveway flanked by towering oaks. At the end of the drive stood a sprawling stone mansion, its weathered facade glowing faintly in the golden light of late afternoon. Ivy climbed its walls, and the tall windows reflected the autumn sky like mirrors.
“What the hell is this?” I asked, my mouth slightly gaping.
Ollie didn’t answer right away. He drove past the mansion, following a path that curved around to the back of the property. Nestled among the trees was a smaller building—a guesthouse with large windows, a cozy-looking porch, and flower beds still clinging to a few brave blooms.
He stopped the car and turned to me, his smirk softening into something more earnest.
“My home.”