“I...”Olivia starts.
“Sit,” Aunt Dee repeats, leaving no room for arguments.
She sits and we eat.The table is chaos—kids arguing about who would win in a fight between a dragon and a T-Rex, Aunt Dee scolding them in the same breath she asks Olivia what she likes in her tea, the TV murmuring in the other room, and through all of it, Olivia slowly thaws.She listens.She smiles.She talks about the library, about a teenager who tried to return a book that was clearly used as a projectile weapon, about an old man who pretends to hate romance novels and hides them inside newspapers.
She fits in our space.Too easily.Like this table has been waiting for her.
When the kids are finally herded upstairs and Aunt Dee disappears into her room to watch her church show, Olivia and I stand in the quiet living room surrounded by picture frames and the smell of dish soap.
“You’re sure this is okay?”she asks.
“I’m sure you’re asking because you’re used to paying rent in guilt,” I say gently.“Room’s upstairs.Third on the right.Door sticks a little.”
She nods, then turns back to me, suddenly serious.“Darren?”
“Yeah?”
“You said you teach women’s classes.Self-defense.”She swallows.“Can we ...start soon?”
My pulse kicks.“Tomorrow,” I say without hesitation.“We’ll start with basics.Stance.Balance.How to break a grip.Where to hit to end a situation fast.”
Fear flits across her eyes and then bravery settles over it like armor.“Okay,” she whispers.
I move before my brain can veto it.Slowly.Carefully.I reach up and brush a loose wisp of hair back from her face, fingers barely touching her skin.Goosebumps rush down her neck and her breathing stutters.
She looks up at me like she’s standing on the edge of something terrifying and beautiful.
“You did good today,” I say softly.“You let people help.That’s harder than anything I’m going teach you.”
Her lips part.
I shouldn’t.I fucking know I shouldn’t.
She’s fresh out of a trauma spiral, housed in my aunt’s spare room, still smelling faintly of hospital sanitizer.But she’s looking at me like I’m the first warm thing she’s trusted in years, and my restraint has its limits.
I lean in just enough that she can feel my breath but not enough to trap her.
“This is me going slow,” I murmur.“You set the pace.You say stop, I stop.You say go, I will make absolutely terrible life choices with you.”
She laughs, nervous and aroused and incredulous all at once.“You’re impossible.”
“I’m patient,” I counter.“And I don’t scare easily.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth.Then back to my eyes.Not yet, something in me says.Soon, something else answers.
“Goodnight, Darren,” she whispers.
“Goodnight, Olivia.”
She turns and heads up the stairs, hips swaying unconsciously beneath the borrowed sweats, confidence and vulnerability knotted together in one woman who has no idea how dangerous she is to my sanity.
When she disappears into the bedroom, I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.I scrub a hand over my face and drop onto the couch.The TV drones and the house settles.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table with a text from Matt.
Matt:You visit the hospital yet or are you still pretending you’re emotionally unavailable?
I snort and type back.
