Yet at this point—while Olivia overall felt more settled and at ease—too many memories still clouded her hard-fought return to normal.
For a while, she’d even driven to another park to run, not because she feared Jaime would show up again, but because she couldn’t handle the disappointment that she wouldn’t.
Work had been…acceptable. It kept her busy, and while she no longer went out of her way to avoid Jaime, she still hadn’t run into her. She supposed it would happen at some point, and by then, hopefully, her scabbed-over wounds would remain closed.
She experienced some moments of weakness, especially late at night, alone in bed (not that Jaime had ever spent the night or been in her home, aside from the first time after the gala). Her idle mind would drift, trying to seek slumber, and often ran into Jaime instead—her smile, the way her voice dropped when she teased Olivia, her random acts of kindness she’d always brush off like they were nothing, and the sadness in her gaze in moments when she thought Olivia was too distracted to notice.
Yet Olivia had noticed everything about Jaime, and perhaps that was why her mind struggled to let go—hyper-fixation wasn’t easy to drop.
But she’d get there, eventually. Time would take care of it. And in the meantime, well, she had her family and her job to keep her busy.
Olivia closed her book and rose to make herself a cup of tea when a loud, repeated knock rattled her door. She jumped.
“What the hell?” She stared at the door for a moment, but when the knock came again, she rushed forward, peering through the door viewer. Then she flung the door open and froze at the sight of a rain-soaked, out-of-breath Jaime.
“You’re home,” Jaime croaked, her hands tightening and releasing at her sides.
“You’re drenched. Are you all right?”
“Can we talk?”
“After you take a shower and put on some dry clothes, yes. You’ll catch your death walking around like this. Come on in.” Olivia waved her inside, a part of her wondering if she was dreaming, still caught in the haze of her book.
“I’m fine. I prefer to talk,and—”
“There are a lot of things I would have preferred, yet here we are.” Olivia spun around, stalking to her linen closet. She grabbed a set of towels and pressed them into Jaime’s hands.
Jaime clutched the towels, her fingers tightening on the fabric as she blinked. “Olivia, I really think—”
“Don’t,” Olivia snapped, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn’t handle this now. She needed to think.
They were roughly the same height and build, so her clothes would fit Jaime. Olivia disappeared into her bedroom, pulling out a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt—hesitating briefly before deciding against panties and a bra.
Jaime would have to manage without. Not like Olivia’s bras would fit her anyway, and she wasn’t about to hand over her underwear.
Joining Jaime once again, she shoved the clothes at her. “Go, through there. Shower. You can leave your wet clothes on the floor. I will get them later and throw them in the washer.”
Jaime held Olivia’s gaze, trembling from the cold with raindrops still affixed to her long lashes. She opened her mouth as if to protest, but Olivia’s glare must have finally convinced her because she nodded and headed toward the guest bathroom.
Once the door fell shut behind her, Olivia started to pace. So, it wasn’t a dream. Jaime was here, in her home. But to talk about what? The case?
Knowing Jaime, it likely related to something with work. Then again, their lives didn’t intersect there anymore—not that they did so anywhere.
Olivia frowned, and her heart grew heavy. God, she had just started to make progress, and now this… Should she ask Jaime to leave? Olivia snorted.
Right, like she’d cause such a self-inflicted wound. No, she needed to know what Jaime wanted. Maybe she’d changed her mind and—
No! That way lay madness, and Olivia refused to fall into the trap. But Jaime had looked so...lost. So utterly heartbroken.
No, no. Don’t. You’re projecting. Jaime didn’t want the same things—she’d said so herself. Olivia needed to remember that.
The low creak of the door opening froze Olivia in place.
Jaime emerged, dressed in Olivia’s clothes—likely without underwear. Not offering her an undergarment now felt like a grave lapse in judgment.
Olivia swallowed hard, unable to look away or quiet the drumming of her heart.
Jaime was in her home, wearing her clothes, barefoot and closing the distance between them.
