“Hey Liv,” Emily exited the kitchen and greeted Olivia with a hug. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Of course. Why do you ask?” She rubbed her hands against her pants legs.
“Don’t know.” She canted her head, reaching out and wiping her finger down Olivia’s forehead toward her nose. “That frown, maybe.”
Olivia swatted her away. “You’re nuts.”
Emily hummed. “Dad made his famous stuffed grape leaves, so watch out.”
Olivia grimaced. Her father loved cooking, and he generally was a decent cook, but ever since her parents’ first vacation, a two-week trip to Turkey—courtesy of Olivia’s first big bonus years ago—he’d been obsessed with the dish. It took him forever to prepare, and he was so proud of it, yet they always, without fail, tasted absolutely horrible. However, no one had the heart to tell him, and so they ate them, suffering in silence.
Growing up, her parents worked double and triple shifts at dead-end jobs and they still struggled, often needing to decide which utility they’d go without. Their four kids always had something to eat, but in retrospect, Olivia realized there had been plenty of days where her parents had gone without.
It had been Olivia’s fervent wish to help, and at first, she’d done so with summer jobs and even a few shifts at fast-food joints during her last two years of high school. Becoming a lawyer and joining a big, successful law firm had been her way out, and a chance to help her family.
“Come on.” Emily grasped her hand and dragged her toward the dining room. “Everyone’s pretty much ready. Why are you so late, anyway? New love on the horizon?”
“What? No. Of course not!” Olivia frowned for real. “Work. I was busy.”
“On a Sunday?”
Olivia shrugged. “The law never stops.” They entered the dining room and indeed, her family already sat around the table, laughing and chatting.
She smiled, greeting them and settling in her seat. She tried to stay with them, join in their conversations and have a regular, lovely Sunday evening with her loved ones. Instead, her mind returned to waking up alone the previous morning.
No Jaime, no note.
The toothbrush mocking her in its plastic box inside her bathroom drawer.
She’d been furious with herself for evenhopingJaime would stay, and, as she stood in her bathroom, the cold of the tiles seeped into her bare feet while she stared at the untouched toothbrush, wishing she’d never even entered that blasted bar during her last conference.
She needed to get a grip, and she needed to forget about Jaime. If only she could make a clean cut, but work made that impossible.
Olivia shook her head, trying to focus on the surrounding conversation.
“Emily, I told you to leave it to Jack to bring the groceries into the house! I don’t know why you even went shopping,” her mother grumbled, shooting an accusatory glare at Jack, who immediately raised his hands.
“Don’t blame me! I told her to leave them in the car, and I’d also offered to go shopping.”
“Don’t offer, just do it.” The spoon full of rice hitting her mother’s plate clanged.
“Mom, I’m fine. I’m pregnant, not an invalid, and I needed to get out of the house,” Emily said, grasping Jack’s hand.
“You didn’t go to that gala so you could relax, and then what, the next day you need to go shopping?”
Her mother turned to Olivia. “How was the gala? Did you have fun? Jack said you left early.”
“What?” Olivia blinked owlishly.
“The gala Friday night.” Her mother canted her head. “What is it with you? You’ve been distracted all evening.”
Images of Jaime in that arresting dress, her sly smile, and challenging words later at her place, swamped Olivia. When she’d entered her living room the next morning, she’d sworn Jaime’s perfume, an enticing mix of sandalwood and jasmine, seemed to hang in the air.
Preposterous.
“Sorry.” Olivia cleared her throat. “I just got a lot on my mind. The gala was fine. I had a headache and called it a night early.”
Her mother narrowed her eyes, her gaze drifting between Olivia and Emily. “You both need to take better care of yourselves. Look at Rachel and Danny. They don’t look as stressed as you do!”
