“What? Lord knows you would not bring a date on your own. I don’t know why you are being so difficult about Peter.”
“I don’t like Peter, and honestly, I don’t even think he likes me. You and Dad have to stop this obsession.”
“Nonsense, what does liking someone have to do with getting married?”
“Married? What are you talking about?”
I hear footsteps on the stairs out the front door, and I tuck in closer to my apartment door. I don’t need Cal, my upstairs neighbor, or that slightly scary woman from 2B, to overhear this conversation.
“Olivia, you aren’t getting any younger,” she huffs. “I’m done having this conversation. Peter will pick you up at five thirty and don’t wear yellow.”
“Mom!” I shout back into the phone. “I’m not going to the gala with Peter!”
The front door opens, only it’s not Cal who enters the lobby carrying a drink tray with two coffee cups. It’s a man with dark hair and jeans that hug his thighs in a way that makes it impossible not to notice the muscle beneath.Something about him is so familiar that I do a double-take. Those piercing green eyes.
“Button?” he asks, coming to an abrupt stop near the mailboxes.
“Why on earth not?” my mother’s voice trills through the lobby. She dislikes being contradicted.
“Because I am already bringing someone.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I register what I’m saying.
The stranger meets my stare, but I don’t miss the way his gaze flicks down my body before returning to my face—or the way he drags his bottom lip between his teeth. Then, he looks away with the same sweet blush across his cheeks as last night.
“You are?” my mother says incredulously. “Who?”
“My fiancé.”
Chapter 4
Owen
She’s even more stunning than last night.
Dark waves, tousled and spilling over one shoulder of an oversized, gray sweatshirt that nearly swallows the tiny, hot pink shorts. Her long, tanned legs stretch down to bare feet, toes painted a glossy, unapologetic red. She looks effortless, like the kind of woman who doesn’t know she’s the most captivating person in the room.
She jams her finger against her phone screen, silencing whoever she is talking to. “What are you doing here?” She stands up a little taller, her nerves evident.
“I didn’t follow you!” I say, which is exactly what someone who is following her would say. “I’m just…” I gesture toward the stairs, “visiting someone in the building. Do you live here?”
“I’m not telling you that.”
“Of course,” I hold up my hand and the coffees I’m juggling in concession. “I’m Owen.”
“Why did you call me Button?”
I let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Honestly, I have no idea.” I shake my head, feeling the heat flush across my cheeks.
“You blush a lot,” she muses, but I catch a faint smile.
“Yeah,” I nod, “my sisters called me Pink for an entire summer.”
“Who are you visiting?” she asks, looking up the stairs.
“Um…Eli…” I hesitate. Eli’s last name is Patterson, but he writes under the pen name Elijah Thorne. He isn’t very social, and I’m not sure what the other tenants in the building know about him or which name would sound more believable. “3A?” I offer, but my voice tips up in the end, like I’m questioning my facts.
She nods. “I see him at the mailbox occasionally.” Her eyes flit to her closed door before she takes a step towards me and holds out her hand. “I’m Liv,” she says, “Olivia, but please call me Liv.”
“Owen,” I shift the coffee carrier and take her outstretched hand.
