I’ve always preferred her home over mine. I live in a minimalistic cabin made up of wooden walls, wide windows, and a nice view of Lake Covewood. The only decorations I have are two photographs of scenic views in Covewood, both captured by Raine, that hang up in my living room. My floor plan is not an open concept, so everything feels stuffy and closed off, which is how my heart alwaysseems to feel.
Hence why I don’t enjoy being at my place and usually end up at Olivia’s. Her living room is painted a bright, sun-warmed yellow. Burnt-orange throw pillows are scattered across a plush, oversized couch, and woven blankets in olive green and navy blue are always draped within arm’s reach, like she’s expecting someone to need comfort.
Macramé wall hangings, potted plants spilling over terracotta pots, and shelves stacked with books and half-burnt candles make the whole place feel like a warm embrace the moment you walk in. There’s always music playing low, and the air smells faintly of spices and whatever she’s baking that day.
It’s chaos, in a way, but intentional—much like her—and it always makes me feel more at peace than anywhere else.
Although, right now, Olivia is the complete opposite of inviting as she sings along to the music, her red hair swinging around as she punches the bowl of dough sitting on her countertop. She gives the dough one final punch before turning to reach for something, but instead, my presence must startle her, because she screams then collides backward into the counter. I give her an apologetic smile as she reaches over to turn down her music, clutching her chest.
“Knock much?” she scolds before taking a deep breath.
“You probably couldn’t hear me over the pandemonium happening in here, but I received a noise complaint from your neighbor,” I lie, loving how her nose scrunches at my words.
“You did not! Edna loves my loud music.”
“Edna isn’t your only neighbor.” I shrug, reaching over to grab a red apple from her fruit bowl and move to the sink to wash it. I take a bite, the crisp crunching sound filling the space between us, before I give her a smirk.
“Yeah, the others are random strangers who are only here during the tourist season,” she says.
My smile vanishes as I shift my weight onto my hurt leg and wince in pain. I bite my lip to hide the sound trying to vibrate from my throat. I catch Olivia smirking at me.
“What’s wrong? Did you pull acalfmuscle?”
She knows. Of course she does. This town has no secrets, even when it’s none of their business. I huff in frustration, running a hand through my hair and down my face. All the while, Olivia’s trying her best not to laugh.
“Did Rick tell you?”
“No. He did one better.” She wiggles her eyebrows before pulling out her phone, tapping her screen a few times, then she plays a video of me being chased by an angry bull. She does laugh then, and it’s like music to my ears, the balm that I need on the hit my pride took today.
“Did he at least explain what happened?”
“Nope,” she says through a giggle as she hits replay, the sound of me shouting and jumping over a fence, landing wrong on my now throbbing leg, and a man yelling “Just show him your badge!” plays between us.
“Here’s what went down. I had to go inspect Harris' Farm today because we received an anonymous tip that they were growing illegal drugs. Philip told me I was welcome to go everywhere but to a certain field. Of course that was a red flag for me, and I reminded him that I wore the badge and can go wherever I need to. Turns out there was a very good reason I shouldn't have gone to that certain field." I wave at the video that’s playing again in Olivia's hand.
Her green eyes sparkle as she asks, “Did you at least find the drugs?”
“There were none. We're currently investigating who left the tip.”
Her lips quirk into a smile that makes the lingering tension of seeing her upset earlier dissolve like mist. Although, I haven’t forgotten the tidbit I heard today and decide it’s my turn to poke fun at her. “Since when did you and Zane start dating? Or is it Ashton?”
Her smile falters, and I quickly regret my choice of words. “You know better than to believe the town’s gossip.”
She turns away from me and opens up a drawer to grab a plastic bag. She makes her way toward her freezer, her strides quick and uneven, hands clenched at her sides, like she’s holding back more than just words. A protective force overcomes me, knowing that something is bothering her. She fills the bag with ice and hands it to me.
“Here. For your leg.”
“Thanks.” I take the bag in one hand and grab hers with my other. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really,” she says, letting go of my hand so she can move the bowl of dough into the fridge. She grabs another bowl and two bottles of water before shutting the door. “I will say this: I’m never trusting Edna to set me up on a date ever again.”
Remembering what Edna confessed to me only moments before, I reply, “I wouldn’t blame you.”
Her lips twitch, like they’re reaching for a smile but can’t quite get there. Her shoulders slump, and that familiar spark in her eyes is nowhere to be found. Worry clings to her face, dimming the light she usually carries. I hate that I can see it fading.
I take a step toward her and place a hand on her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. She looks up at me, her eyes wide and welcoming.
“Whatever is worrying you right now, forget about it. I’m here for you, always.”
