When I’d done a full inventory of the placement of my arms, legs, and any other meaningful body parts, I’d discovered Olivia snuggled into my chest, her head tucked beneath my chin. She had one leg thrown over mine, and that ridiculous, fire-hazard of a nightgown wrapped around my lower body, pinning her to me. I’d discarded my t-shirt in the night, and Olivia’s cold hands pressed against my chest, either pursuing warmth or on a mission to drive me mad. She’d achieved both.
So I lay there, oddly content in my discomfort, contemplating our situation. Why had my heart softened at the look of her sleeping face? Why had I thought the curve of her neck was so beautiful I’d wanted to explore it with my mouth and see what made her hum in response? I should’ve felt nothing for Olivia except relief we were one day closer to the end of our arrangement.
I’d despised this woman in college. Despised as in devoted time best spent studying to fantasizing about creative ways to knock her off that high horse. Yet now that I was getting to know her, she was unraveling all my carefully bound ideas of who she was.
Admittedly, on Saturday morning I’d wanted nothing more than to wake her up with a kiss and claim her as mine.
Then she’d yawned, stretched, first one blue eye popping open, then the other. “What are we doing?” she’d asked.
Lady, I have no idea.
She’d untangled from me, the bed, and that gown that could serve as rope if we needed to scale down the six stories of the hotel in an emergency. Then muttering apologies, Olivia had raced to the bathroom, mumbling something about “this never ends well in romance novels.”
By Monday evening, I sat behind the wheel of my SUV navigating the pocked roads of Sugar Creek. One hand gripped the steering wheel while the other rested against Olivia’s on the console between us. What would she do if I just grabbed her hand and held it? Did she feel as off-kilter and confused as I did after our weekend in Little Rock?
“Yes, Celeste,” Olivia said into the phone pressed against her cheek. “I have it all lined up. Lachlan’s chartered a plane, and we’ll land in New York at five-thirty and leave immediately for theGMAstudio.” She sent me a pleased smile. “I’ll send you video from his gala keynote, but I do think he’s ready for Wednesday.”
Didn’t that just warm the pixels of my heart? I’d spent years purposely not caring if I had anyone else’s approval, but to have Olivia’s meant everything.
“What’s that?” Olivia pulled up a calendar on her iPad. “No, I’m not interested in taking Katarina and her friends to a K-pop concert.” Her eyes squinted shut, and she pulled a face. “Sure, I’ll be glad to check. I have your son’s band concert on next Tuesday, not this week. I did order those dress pants for him. Right, see you tomorrow.” The call over, Olivia let her head fall against the seat. “I need a vacation.”
“Isn’t that what every day married to me is?” Olivia bit down on a smile, but I saw it. “Tell me again what we’re doing at the Lost Story tonight?” All I knew was that my wife had invited me, and I’d looked for any excuse to spend time with her since we’d returned from the gala. On Saturday evening, we’d gone to dinner downtown, laughing and talking as we walked in and out of quaint shops while the scent of fall hung in the air. Sunday, Olivia had talked me into church and family lunch at Sylvie’s, where I’d dined on fried chicken and Frannie and Sylvie’s gossip. Both had been quite satisfying.
“We’re decorating,” Olivia said as I turned onto Main Street. “Downtown Sugar Creek’s Halloween candy crawl is tomorrow night, and I promised I’d help Rosie at the bookshop.”
“Is this some small-town cuteness I shouldn’t miss?”
“The kids trick-or-treat from all the local shops. But you’ll have to catch it next year because you and I will be flying back from your slam dunk of aGMAinterview.” She returned her iPad to her purse and regarded me thoughtfully. “I bet you were all about some Halloween and dressing up when you were a kid.”
“Actually no.” Funny how I could still remember the want. “My mom worked most nights. When I was little, I’d go to the restaurant with her in the evenings, then when I was older, she was often sick.”
“You’ve never gone trick-or-treating?”
I shrugged away her unwelcome pity. “It’s not a big deal.”
Her hand slid up and down my arm in comforting strokes. “Young Lachlan missed out on a lot.”
Yes, he had, but at that moment, current Lachlan just wanted Olivia to keep up her sweet ministrations. “I’m glad to pitch in,” I said. “Are we going with a Freddy Kreuger theme or maybe a Texas Chainsaw Massacre motif?”
“Something a little tamer. I’m afraid this evening will be boring for you.”
“I happen to have it on good authority that when decorating, a tall person comes in handy.”
“So does a ladder.”
I turned off the car and faced my wife. “I tell better jokes.”
She tilted her head and regarded me with a wry smile. “Do you?”
I hugged her to me, a move that reminded me of our shared bed in Little Rock. “You need me, and you know it.”
“Maybe I do, Lachlan.” She lingered in my arms for just a moment before wiggling out and opening her car door. “But I’ll get over it.”
* * *
Within two hoursof arriving at the Lost Story Bookshop, the place looked like a Halloween wonderland. That was the magic of Olivia. With a polite kiss on my cheek for the sake of onlookers, she’d left me as soon as we stepped inside, then went to work. Watching her was like watching a five-star general. She arrived with a list of tasks, assigned jobs, and not only oversaw the work, but decorated sections of the bookshop herself.
My job was hanging fake cobwebs from light fixtures and tall shelving. Olivia had only grabbed a step stool three times and moved my web placement. I bet Spiderman’s girlfriend didn’t go behind him and rearrange his work.
