Olivia: Thanks for the heads-up. I’m slammed with meetings, but come by later?
Me: Bringing wine.
My next call is with Audrey. She’s still out of town sourcing for the hotel. “We got the reclaimed wood,” she says, all business. “Good texture, warm tone, matches your moody-ass Pinterest board.” We run through supplier timelines, lobby layout tweaks, and punch-list items. She’s excited. I try to keep up.
Phone buzzes again?—
Agnes
“Hey, trouble,” she says. “Sorry, I really wanted to bring the girls, but I’m slammed.”
“No sweat. Hannah’s coming instead.”
“Oof,” she says, and I can hear her wince. “You goodwith that?” I lean back in my chair. “Not thrilled. But it’s fine. I haven’t seen them in two weeks. I’ll take what I can get.”
“You want me to fly out after my trip?” she asks. “Keep you sane? Bring snacks? Judge your life choices in person?” I laugh. “Actually, yeah. You can finally meet Olivia.” There’s a beat of dramatic pause. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for that. Count me in.”
By the time I pull into Olivia’s driveway, the sun’s already going down. She’s at the dining table, hair piled on her head like it’s holding her brain together, typing like she’s running out of time. I drop my keys, walk over, and gently shut her laptop.
She blinks up at me. “Hey.”
“Yeah, no,” I say, already grabbing the wine bottle and two glasses. “You’ve been doing this all day. You need air. Blanket. Stars. Me.”
Five minutes later, we’re on the back porch, under that old quilt she never actually washes. The sky’s clear. The wine’s cold. Her body’s warm against mine. “I heard from Hannah,” I say, eyes on the sky. “She’s flying in with the girls tomorrow.” Olivia doesn’t flinch, sips her wine. “Okay.”
“You sure?” She sighs. “I’m dealing with enough of my own crap,” she says. “She’s your wife. I’m not here to make it harder.”
“But this?—”
She shakes her head. “Don’t. We don’t need to talk about it. Not tonight at least.” She leans into me. I kiss the top of her head, then her temple. She turns to me,and that’s it. We’re kissing, and it feels like the world just went quiet for us.
She gets on top of me, shifting her hips over mine. The blanket slips slightly as she moves again, rolling her hips in a way that makes me grip her tighter. My head falls back against the wood. She leans forward, mouth trailing down my neck, her hair spilling over my shoulder like silk. “You're driving me insane,” I groan.
I pull the blanket tighter around us, like we can trap this moment and never let it go. My hands roam over her bare back, the swell of her ass, the soft press of her breasts against my chest. Every inch of her is mine and not mine at the same time.
She grabs me, eyes locked on mine, and guides me to her entrance, already soaked, ready for me. I groan, low and broken, and grip her hips as I pull her down onto me in one swift thrust. We both gasp. God, she feels so fucking good stretching around me. Her forehead presses to mine as she starts to move. She rides me like she wants to feel every inch, every pulse. Our mouths are open but wordless, breath catching between us, broken only by the quiet sound of her moans.
She picks up pace, grinding faster, and something in me snaps. I flip her onto her back, blanketed beneath me, and drive into her, hard, deep. She cries out my name, “Ethan—,” breathless, wrecked. “Be quiet, Liv,” I whisper against her neck. I grab a pillow from the couch and slide it under her hips, lifting her just enough. I start to move, slow at first, working on my pace. She moansagain.
“Liv,” I warn, my voice low and sharp, “I said quietly. I don’t want to hear a sound.” She nods quickly, lips parted, already trembling. Her body quakes beneath me, her moans caught in her throat, her fingers twitching in my grip. As she finishes, she stays quiet, just like I told her.
But her eyes scream everything I already know.
She’s mine.
The house is still dark when I slip out of bed, Olivia curled into the pillow. Her hair’s a mess. She looks peaceful. Which is dangerous, because I’m getting used to this. I tug on sweats, pad into the kitchen, and start breakfast. Pancakes. Eggs, I’ll probably screw up. Coffee, because we’re both useless without it. She walks in a few minutes later, eyes sleepy, hair everywhere, wearing one of my t-shirts.
“Morning,” I say, handing her a mug. She leans in and kisses my jaw. “You’re cooking?”
“Trying to,” I mutter. “No promises on the eggs.”
We eat in silence and then get ready for the day. She stays behind, and I head to the site for a check-in with Josh. It’s the usual: timelines, delays, Audrey’s notes from her latest design deep-dive.
By noon,I’m standing in the terminal. ThenI hear it—two high-pitched voices scream “Daddy!” and it’s game over. I drop everything.
They crash into me, arms wrapped tight, little faces pressed to my neck. I haven’t seen them in two weeks, and it feels like years. Hannah follows behind, dressed in jeans and a soft sweater, looking good, happy like she’s fine. Like we’re fine. “Hey,” she says, pulling me into a hug. Her cheek brushes mine as she kisses the corner of my mouth. “Hey,” I say. “Flight, okay?”
“Easier than expected.” She bends to fix one of the girls’ jackets. “Thanks for letting me bring them.” We grab lunch downtown. The girls are full of stories—new swings at school, some boy named Colin who only speaks in a robot voice. Hannah talks about her job, the gallery, and how it feels good to build something of her own. And I listen. I really do. I’m proud of her.
