“Yes, Mom,” both Olivia and Emily said at the same time. For sure, their younger siblings had not experienced as much trouble as Olivia and Emily, not that she minded, but today, her mother’s comment rubbed her the wrong way. She gazed at her plate, pushing the chicken and vegetables around.
“Here, sweetheart, eat some dolma. I think they’re my best ones yet.” Her father held up the plate with filled grape leaves.
“Of course, Dad.” She stabbed one with her fork and put it on her plate, staring morosely at the wrapped dish.
The following week, Olivia threw herself into work, burying herself in a mountain of paperwork. For once, those dry briefs and documents—usually a task she longed to set on fire—felt like a welcome distraction.
Or so she thought.
As the days stretched on, she realized the paperwork, while tedious, didn’t demand the deep focus she needed to fully escape her thoughts. Her mind seized the monotony, slipping away to wander along paths she wished would stay closed off.
She’d volunteered for tasks she typically avoided—anything to stay in the office, hidden behind her desk, rather than face the courtroom. Olivia had had enough dealing with Jaime during the last days of the Lanx trial, and if she could avoid further interactions, she’d do so.
She loathed the very idea of running into Jaime. The mixture of hurt and fury churning in her gut told her she wouldn’t be able to handle it. Not yet at least. Time would surely take care of it.
Yet time seemed to drag, a string of chewing gum stretched to infinity. Each day became a battle between wanting to forget Jaime and being haunted by her. Olivia’s fingers would pause over the keyboard, and her mind would wander, recalling the heat of Jaime’s gaze or the entrancing coolness of her voice, the silky feel of her skin.
She had no idea what she’d do if they did meet—probably something humiliating, like stammering through a greeting or, worse, losing her temper in front of everyone. She couldn’t afford either.
Olivia couldn’t wait for the weekend to arrive. She even contemplated going running on both days, yet whenever she found herself in a mood, she tended to overdo it, and last time, she’d aggravated her knee and couldn’t run for almost a month. Not something she was keen on repeating.
No, she’d lose herself in fiction, either via reading or watching shows. Maybe a bit of both. She might call Emily, and they’d chat for a while, considering her doctor had put her on bedrest until the baby was born, and her sister wasn’t…pleased. Poor Jack.
Finally, the weekend arrived. She spent Friday night with a glass of merlot and some French fries, almost dumping both in the trash when she recalled the night in the bar—the wine, the heat, Jaime. Frustrated, Olivia had retired for the night earlier than her usual Friday habit, cursing the memories that led her back to the same place.
After a pleasant talk with a pouty and exasperated Emily the next day, and after judging a few more of Luca’s paintings as excellent, Olivia settled on the couch to watch something—anything.
She flicked through the channels with restless fingers, rolling her eyes when she came acrossLaw & Order. A legal drama, of course.
“Perfect,” she muttered dryly.
The prosecutor on the screen made some grand speech to the jury, and Olivia winced.
“No one talks like that.” She shook her head, thinking of Jaime. God, Jaime would glare disdainfully at any attorney daring to give such a speech. She shifted on the couch, both annoyed and exasperated at the heat flushing her skin as she pictured Jaime’s controlled ire in the courtroom.
How long would it take for the infernal woman to exit her mind?
Perhaps she needed to find someone else. Her sister once told her the best way to get over someone was to get under someone new. She knew her sister hadn’t invented the saying, but she’d still spat out her drink at hearing those words leave her sister’s mouth.
Again, Olivia was quite comfortable with one-night stands, but the thought of seeking such an adventure now left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Olivia huffed and rose, turning off the TV and dumping the remote on her couch before stalking to the bedroom. She might as well get more rest, especially since she planned to go all out tomorrow and completely exhaust herself.
Mornings only offered a brief window in which the heat and humidity of the Atlanta summer would not kill you while exercising outside, and as such, Olivia’s feet kicked up dirt right after seven a.m. when she started her run at Freedom Park.
She followed the trail, keeping a good pace while her exercise playlist rang through her headphones, the bass, the drums, the speed, all perfectly measured to aid in ignoring her body’s shouts to end this torture.
The still cool (or not yet hot and stale) air felt nice on her slick skin, and while the music drowned out the nature sounds of her surroundings (her only regret about listening to music while running), she still soaked in the sights, how the sun streamed through the tree crowns, littering the pine needle covered trail with specks of light, the birds taking flight and soaring from one tree to the other.
At this hour on a Sunday morning, the park stood mostly deserted, people preferring to sleep in or go to church—another reason Olivia loved running so early.
When she ran, she forgot everything—no matter what plagued her, what hurt or annoyed her, what stole her sleep—on the track or on the trail, nothing but her pounding feet and throbbing heart mattered.
Olivia’s legs always burned at the beginning, protesting the strain, but after a while, they adjusted, and the tension eased. In its stead came a sort of mindlessness, an almost meditative stillness.
Halfway through her run, she noted something bright in her periphery and turned her head, her brain unable to compute thesight greeting her—Jaime Lachlan sitting on a park bench, dressed in beige linen pants and a red short-sleeved top, standing out like a sore thumb.
First, she considered her a hallucination, but the Jaime in her mind’s eye was sultry, tempting, sly, and this incarnation looked tense and rigid as she sat there, motionless as the cardboard cup holder with two cups beside her.
