"Fine," she said.
Juliet cheered, pulling Leo toward the house. The two kids charged up the steps, pushed through the door, laughter spilling into the hallway.
Olivia stood there, watching their backs. Her expression softened.
"Leo's very well-behaved," I said.
She didn't look at me. "Thank you."
"I mean it," I said. "He has good manners."
"He's always been good." A hint of pride in her voice. She turned and walked inside.
I followed.
The kitchen wasn't large, but it was clean. Olivia pulled ingredients from the fridge and started prepping lunch. When she tied on her apron, her fingers paused at the strings behind her back, fumbling several times before getting it tied.
"Need help?" I asked.
"No."
"I can—"
"Just sit."
Her voice was hard, but her movements grew rushed, fingers grasping blindly at her lower back, more frantic, less effective. The strings slipped from her fingertips, hung loose, swaying at her side.
I walked over.
She didn't turn around, but her back stiffened.
I picked up the strings. When my fingers brushed her back, her breathing changed—light, short.
I crossed the strings, wrapped them around her waist, pulled them snug. Her waist was narrow—so narrow that when the strings came around, I barely had to pull to bring them to the front. I could feel her body heat through that thin shirt, warm, slightly burning.
Tied. One knot, not too loose, not too tight.
"Done," I said.
She didn't turn. "Thanks."
Flat voice, but her ears had turned red. From the lobes all the way to the tips, clear under the kitchen lights.
I stepped back, giving her space.
She stood there, hand on the counter, motionless. After a few seconds, she picked up the knife and went back to slicing tomatoes. The blade hit the cutting board with a rhythm more erratic than before, unsteady—one cut went crooked, the blade sliding off the edge with a harsh scrape.
I leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching her back.
She didn't turn around, but her ears stayed red.
Laughter from the dining room—Juliet and Leo discussing something, voices loud, animated, seemed to be debating whose cat was fatter.
Olivia's hand paused. She tilted her head, listening, and her mouth curved slightly.
"Olivia," I said.
She didn't turn. "What?"
