Her shoulders relax with my words, and she takes a deep breath in through her nose and out through her full, pink lips. As I stare at them, a zing of desire runs through me, and I have to fight with myself to look away.
“Thanks,” she whispers. “For being here.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” I confess, giving her a grin.
I take off my uniform jacket, revealing a plain white T-shirt underneath that's not very white anymore thanks to the dirt I landed in earlier. I lay my jacket and keys on the table by herfront door and limp my way over to the couch, which, thanks to my leg, takes me longer than usual.
Who knew twisting your knee cap the wrong way could be so painful? I press the ice bag onto my leg as Olivia places some snacks onto the coffee table. She reaches for a bowl, and the scent of citrus finds its way to my nose, like a slice of my favorite lemon cake of hers.
You’d think that, after all these years, I’d have a better handle on my feelings. But as I notice the sadness weighing on her shoulders, all I want to do is reach out and comfort her.
I ball my fists together, allowing my fingernails to dig into the palms of my hands as a reminder to stay grounded. We don’t talk for a moment, both of us lost in thought. Some hearts understand each other even in silence. It’s always been that way between us. We could have a whole conversation without speaking a word.
Olivia usually never goes long without speaking, and if she’s quiet, it usually means something is really bothering her. I nudge her with my good knee, and she shakes her head, breaking her trance-like state.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I can tell that whatever happened this evening is bothering you more than you’re letting on. Do I need to arrest this guy?”
She chuckles, but there’s no humor behind the sound. As Olivia turns toward me, she fills me in on every detail of the date. When she’s finished, she lets out a loud exhale and leans back into her couch. Her eyes are locked on a random spot in front of us as whatever is bothering her swirls inside her mind.
I nudge her again and ask, “You’ve been on bad dates before. Why do you look so defeated after this one?”
“Besides the fact that he ate my dessert? That’s reason enough for you to arrest him.” One corner of her mouth lifts, the faintest dimple popping in her cheek.
“I agree. Dessert is sacred.” I smirk, and at the same time, hers falls.
“I had that same thought.” She studies me for a moment, her gaze traveling over my face, and I wonder if we’re close enough where she can feel the heat radiating off my skin. “You know me better than anyone—well, besides my family and Raine, of course.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her posture says everything before she even speaks.
“But even they don’t understand me like you do,” she adds, the sadness spreading to her voice.
She’s staring down at her hands, and it’s in the quiet moments, when her shoulders dip softly and she has a faraway look in her eyes, that I let my guard down and admire her.
Olivia looks like all the seasons in this moment. She’s wearing a bluish-green sweater that reminds me of the lake in the summer. Her pale skin is tinged red, reminding me of winter berries. Her red-orange hair looks like the leaves during autumn. Her lips, full and pink, are like blossoming flowers in the spring.
Her eyes drift over to me. They’re a mixture of bright green and gold, her irises like the morning sun sending fragments of light through the trees as it rises. Olivia looks like a dream—one that I never want to wake up from. But the only time that I can reach out and touch her like I crave can only be found when I’m sleeping.
“Is there something wrong with me?” she whispers as her face falls in defeat.
“What?” I ask, my fists clenching together. The mere idea of Olivia believing that something is wrong with her fills me with hot rage.
“There has to be something wrong with me. I’m twenty-nine years old, and every relationship I’ve had has failed. Do you know how many first dates I’ve been on in my life?”
I don’t reallywantto know the answer, but I ask anyway, “How many?”
“Thirty-six. And do you know how many of those led to a second date?”
I do know the answer to this, but instead, I press my lips together and stay quiet. Everyone seems to fight some sort of silent battle against not being good enough, not having enough, or not belonging enough. I understand, to a certain extent, where Olivia is coming from, but what I don’t understand is why it’s botheringher.
She’s always confident, taking on life with the force of a cyclone. Anytime I get to witness her in her element, it’s a reminder of how she’s an unstoppable force of nature. It’s unlike her to let something, like a bad date, get her down. There’s somethingmorehappening here, but I can’t put my finger on it. Or maybe I don’t know her like she thinks I do.
“Five. Out of those five, I’ve managed to date two of them long term, and by long term I mean making it almost two years before something happened to break us up. I think thatsomethingis me. Maybe I’m too much. Too loud, too energetic, too?—”
“I’m going to stop you right there. You’re perfect just the way you are. And the right man will see that one day.”
What I don’t say is that they’ll see her the way I do. That she’s worth the chaos she brings. That it’s a blessing to be in the same proximity as her and to witness the light that she constantly shines. That she’s anything but “too much” because I can never get enough of her.
“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend.”
