Alec is tall and fit, his wavy silver hair neat but relaxed. The gray scruff along his jaw softens his debonair features, and his hazel eyes are warm, alive.
Bas, on the other hand, is all rough edges and quiet power. Ruggedly handsome, with sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw dusted with stubble, and striking blue eyes that miss nothing. Together, they’re a study in contrast and connection.
The air hums with the scent of something rich and savory simmering on the stove. Alec stirs while Bas shuffles to a chair, draping a blanket over his shoulders. It’s sweltering outside—humid, thick air clinging to every surface—yet he’s layered up, cocooned in warmth.
Up close, I can see the toll. Even beneath the extra clothes, he looks small. His clothes wear him. His skin has that pale, fragile hue I remember too well. My chest tightens. I don’t need anyone to tell me what he’s fighting; I can see it in the way Alec hovers close, in the fatigue that shadows Bas’s eyes.
We lost my father to cancer. Watching this hits something deep inside me, familiar and painful. I wish I could take it away for them—the helplessness, the fear that never really leaves.
“Bas, Alec.” Sam slides past me into the kitchen, his voice warm and proud. “This is Olivia.”
The tenderness and, dare I say, pride in his voice is undeniable and thaws any lingering frost from last night.
Both men turn to us, smiles breaking wide. They greet me with open arms and the full French treatment. Cheek kisses, laughter, affection that feels genuine. There’s no awkwardness, no hesitation. Just welcome.
Before I know it, we’re outside on the deck, the late morning air wrapping around us. I’m tucked beside Sam on a wooden bench, his thigh pressed lightly against mine. Alec sits opposite in a Muskoka chair, Bas beside him, still bundled in his blanket despite the sticky July heat.
He doesn’t look good, and my heart twists.
Alec gestures toward me, his accent smooth and deep, like melted chocolate. “So, Olivia, tell us what you’ve been up to since arriving.”
I smile, brushing a stray hair from my face, trying to keep the lump in my throat at bay. “Honestly? Eating too much, sleeping too little, and following this one around like his groupie.”
I nudge Sam with my shoulder, and Bas lets out a soft laugh, the sound low and genuine.
It feels easy, pure, like I’ve been part of this world longer than a day. But beneath the laughter, a quiet truth pulses inside me. A love like this—steady, enduring, defiant—is rare. And sitting here among them, I can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Sam and I could find a version of it for ourselves.
Albeit awkwardly, I break the lull in conversation. “We went to dinner with the Thibaults.”
“Daniel and Yasmine?” Bas’s tone sharpens immediately. Sam and I both nod.
Bas exhales hard through his nose, frustration flashing across his features. “Sam, I told you to walk away. They’re bad news,trust me.”
He pushes himself up slowly from his chair, Alec moving as if to steady him, but Bas waves him off. He walks to the deck railing, shoulders slightly hunched, hands curling in on themselves. Even sick, there’s a fierceness about him that commands attention.
“The Thibaults will promise the world and hand you the bill when it all burns down.” His back remains to us, and I imagine his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the backyard. “Fine, don’t trust me—but talk to Sal Lyons before you do anything.”
Sam frowns. “Sal? Why?”
“Daniel invested in his first restaurant, Voltaire.Ask him about it.”
Sam’s brows pull together. “Voltaire? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Exactly.” Bas’s glare reinforces his ire.
The silence that follows is thick enough to touch. I wish I knew more about why Bas despises Daniel Thibault so much. I don’t particularly dislike the man, and I’m not biased when it comes to his daughter so I’m curious. But judging by the tension rolling off him, now isn’t the time to pry.
Alec steps closer, resting a gentle hand on Bas’s shoulder. The touch is tender, grounding. “All right,mon cœur,let’s not ruin a good afternoon with bad memories.”
Bas sighs, his shoulders sagging, and Alec gives him a soft smile before smoothly steering the conversation elsewhere.
“Bas, Alec.” I seize the moment to lighten the mood. “Maybe you can help me out with something.”
Three sets of eyes turn to me. I grin, feeling playful. “I’d love a little dirt on Sam. What was he like as a teen? Anything I should know or use for leverage later?”
Bas chuckles, a twinkle brightening his tired blue eyes. “Ah,Samson,I like this one.” He winks at me. “Ma chérie,I could tell you many things.”
The term of endearment catches me off guard—gentle, affectionate—and it melts something inside me. Bas’s warmth, his immediate acceptance, feels like a quiet blessing.
