Back inside,the office felt too warm. Or maybe it was just me. The attorney was stacking the final documents, neat and efficient, like he’d done this a thousand times and never once noticed the lives being rearranged in front of him.
“Now that everything is signed,” he said, tapping the stack into order, “we’ll need five to seven business days for the paperwork to process before we can close everything.” A collective groan rippled around the room. Chairs creaked, shoulders slumped, grown adultssuddenly looking like scolded kids whose recess just got canceled. Leo made a joke about bureaucracy. No one laughed.
Olivia sat across the table, perfectly composed. You’d never guess what had just happened out in the hallway. But I could still feel her everywhere. The warmth of her skin was in my palms. The taste of her still haunted the back of my throat.
“Will you be staying?” I asked quietly, leaning just close enough for her to hear. She didn’t look at me. “If my mom needs me to, then yes,” she whispered. Her tone was steady, but the edge in it gave her away.
“I hope she does,” I said before I could stop myself. That earned the smallest reaction, a laugh, soft and breathy, half disbelief, half something else. She tried to hide it, but I saw it.
The attorney looked up briefly, then back to his papers. No one else noticed a thing. But between us, it was loud, that invisible current we kept pretending not to feel. She straightened the corner of the file in front of her, a slight, deliberate movement, and said under her breath, “You shouldn’t want this.”
“I know,” I said, eyes on the table, pulse still unsteady. “But I do.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
OLIVIA
The door clicks shutbehind me. The house feels quieter, just what I need right now. Stillness. I slip off my boots and walk down the hallway and upstairs to my room. My skin still tingles. My lips still burn. The taste of him, the heat, that need that hasn’t faded. What the hell am I doing?
I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, face in my hands. I can still see it all in my head. I just didn’t let him kiss me; I let him devour me. I wanted him to kiss me, God help me, I still want it. And what terrifies me most is that I don’t feel sorry. I don’t feel guilty at all. I know I shouldn’t be doing that, but I haven’t felt him in so long, and my body needs him. I should feel guilty, remorseful, or regretful. But instead, I feel like I’ve woken up. Like something inside me that’s been dormant for years cracked open, and now it won’t close.
I strip out of my clothes one layer at a time. The blouse clings like a memory. The skirt feels too tight, toomuch. I toss them both into the hamper and step into the bathroom, turning the water hot enough to burn me alive.
Steam curls around me as I step into the shower and let the heat soak into my skin. It should calm me. It doesn’t. Because all I can see is the way he looked at me before he kissed me. Like he’d been holding his breath for years. Like I was something he’d lost and finally found again.
Somewhere inside me, beneath the layers of motherhood and marriage and pretending, I’m stillhis. I finish the shower fast, wrap myself in a towel, and move through the routine. Lotion. Hairbrush. Pajamas. Oversized T-shirt and cotton shorts. The phone buzzes. David. I consider letting it go to voicemail; I don’t feel like I can face him right now. His voice will be too much, and that’s when I realize that I am feeling guilty. But I can’t do that, I can’t avoid what I’m feeling, and he is my husband for fucks sake. So, I answer. "Hey."
“Hey, love, you home already? How was the reading?” This is good, every day, a casual conversation with my husband. “Yeah, just got in. It was fine, some things unexpected, but overall, like any other attorney meeting should be.”
“Okay, okay.” A pause. “Will you be staying there for a while, or when are you thinking of coming back? I don’t want to pressure you; it’s just that a quick trip that just came up at work, and I need to know how to organize things here.”
I rub at my temple. “I don’t know yet. Can we talkabout this later? Some paperwork needs to be done, and I’m sure my mom will need me for a couple more days.”
“Sure, okay. I’m heading into dinner with a few execs, so I can’t talk too much anyway.” Then, faintly, a female laughter in the background. I know his coworkers and the people he usually dines with. There are no women in that group. My body goes still, but I shouldn’t push it. I’m in no place to be the jealous wife right now. But I do it anyway. “Is there someone else with you?” He hesitates. “Just the team. We’re at the hotel restaurant.” I don’t push. But I damn sure know that’s a lie. But again, I need to let it go. “Right.” I stay silent. “Well. I’ve got to go.”
“Okay. Talk tomorrow.”
“Sure, love you, Olivia,” I hang up and stare at the screen. It’s not just the kiss with Ethan unraveling me now; it’s everything. David. This house. My life. The version of me I keep pretending still fits everywhere, when in reality, I feel like I’m losing myself.
I don’t want to feel like this anymore.
When I go to check on my mom, she is already asleep. My dad and Anne are in the kitchen, and I know they won’t leave her alone tonight. So, I went and knocked on Jule’s door. “Wanna go out tonight?” She looks up, surprised. “You? Out? Where’s my sister?” She says, twisting her head, exanimating me. “Ha, ha, ha, funny.” I roll my eyes at her.
“I need to decompress, and I don’t want to do it next to Dad and Anne,” She grins. “Point taken. Let’s go.” We get ready between rooms. I didn’t packanything for this occasion, so I went through Julia’s closet, which, let’s say, has a very different taste than I do. Even though it’s freezing out there, I settle for a mini skirt and a blouse that leaves very little to the imagination, but I’ll have my coat on, and I pair it with some knee-high boots. That will cover what the outfit doesn’t.
We head to Mike’s.A little dive downtown that somehow refuses to die. The place hasn’t changed at all. Not even a little. The same flickering neon signs still buzz outside, trying their best to spell out Coors Light but giving up halfway through. They’ve never exactly screamed “welcoming bar”, more like a possible tetanus situation.
Inside, it smells like spilled beer, fryer grease, and a thousand bad decisions. The floor’s still sticky —visibly sticky—which feels like some kind of health code violation, but also, you know… home.
The same crooked pool table squats in the corner, green felt scarred like it’s survived wars. A group of college kids is crowded around it, all loud laughter and cheap perfume, taking selfies like they discovered dive bars themselves. Bless their hearts.
I catch our reflection in the mirror behind the bar, and for half a second, I look older than I remember. Thelighting here is brutal. Murderous, really. I make a mental note to never stand under a Miller Lite sign again.
The bartender looks up and grins, wiping his hands on a towel that’s definitely not clean. “Well, I’ll be damned. Olivia.”
“Mike,” I say, smiling despite myself. “Still here, huh?”
He chuckles. “Somebody’s gotta keep this dump running.”
