I just watch them. Soaking in the way Ollie’s eyes water when she laughs. The way Vince stretches his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. His shirt riding up just enough to reveal the trail of dark hair disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. I can’t help but notice the way Ollie’s eyes flick down for a hearty moment before quickly looking away.
It’s subtle—so subtle that I might have missed it if I hadn’t been watching her so closely—but it’s there. A flicker of something that makes my skin tingle.
A smirk pulls at the corner of Vince’s lips, like he also caught her in the act of staring. Despite the smirk, there’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there a second ago. The way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for her, but doesn’t.
Instead, he clears his throat and leans forward on his elbows.
“I’m just grateful you’re still alive after everything we’ve been through.”
“Ha!” she scoffs, offended. “I’m thriving out of spite, baby doll. You know, I’m pretty confident I could survive the apocalypse.” Ollie leans back in her chair with an infuriatingly cocky tilt of her head. “I’ve got good skills.”
“Yeah, right,” Vince retorts. “You would absolutely try to hug a zombie.”
“They’re just hangry and misunderstood!” Ollie insists.
“Ollie, theyeatpeople,” I add, trying to keep a straight face about this ridiculous turn in conversation.
“So do I,” she says quickly, her dark eyes focused on me. “I didn’t hear any complaining from you.”
“Oh my god!" I gasp, my face burning.
Vince lets out a low chuckle, his eyes flicking between the two of us.
"You two are ridiculous," he says, shaking his head, but there's no real heat behind the words. Just amusement. Affection. Curiosity?
Ollie's smile deepens as she watches me squirm. She leans forward, her elbows resting on the table, her tank top slipping just enough to reveal the curve of her breasts. I can't help but glance down, my breath catching as I realize I never got to hold them today.
Before anyone can mention the deepening flush on my neck, Ollie pushes back her chair.
“Well, this was delicious. So delicious, I want to punch you in the face,” she says, stacking plates and silverware.
“I’ll take the compliment, but I reject the abuse.” A smile plays on his lips as he watches her.
She sucks in air between her teeth, “Sorry. It's kind of a package deal. You can't have one without the other.”
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Vince’s face as his gaze drifts from Ollie to me. “I think I can handle both.”
My stomach executes a perfect, weightless flip. Surely, he doesn’t mean what I think he means, right?
The declaration hangs in the air, practically rewriting every unspoken rule between us. The pantry, the table, every charged glance this week—it all crystallizes into this single, offered possibility that Ollie doesn’t seem to pick up on.
Vince takes a long drink, then sets the glass down with a decisive click. “Hey, I was thinking we could hike up to the ridge tomorrow morning. The view’s supposed to be incredible.”
Ollie lets out a groan so dramatic I practically feel it in my own chest. “A morning? You want me to participate in a morning? Have we met?”
“Sunrise, Ollie. It’ll be worth it,” Vince says, his voice a low, convincing hum.
“The only thing worth seeing at sunrise is the inside of my eyelids.”
“I’d love to go,” I say, already imagining the shot I could line up. “My camera’s begging for a proper landscape.”
“Traitor,” Ollie mutters, but she’s fighting a smile, her eyes darting between us. She throws her hands up. “Fine! But I’m blaming both of you when I’m miserable.”
Ollie shifts her weight, the confident energy from dinner draining away. “Okay. Well, I’m going to…go to bed then, I guess.”
She doesn’t move, just stands by her chair looking utterly lost, her earlier bravado completely gone. I glance at Vince, a silent question in my raised eyebrows. He reads it perfectly, his own expression softening with fond exasperation.
He rolls his eyes, then pushes his chair back with a scrape. In one fluid motion, he’s up and crossing the space between us. His hands are warm and firm on the backs of our heads, his chuckle a soft rumble in the quiet kitchen.
