No, I’m getting ahead of myself. All I know for sure is that we need to have a long conversation tonight.

I turn my car toward home, intent on doing just that. But part of me still hopes that maybe, just maybe . . . some things really are that simple. Or at least, simpler than they’ve seemed lately.

Chapter Ten

Noah

Olivia’s been under an enormous amount of stress lately, even more so than normal. In addition to running a business, and tiptoeing around our fragile, still-healing relationship, she’s been faced with her father’s fading health.

For a long time, we’ve all pretended he could plug on forever. But the truth is, he’s not fine. His prognosis is grim, and it’s possible he won’t leave the hospital this time. I wish more than anything that I could fix this, that I could steal Olivia away and shield her from all the pain to come.

Between us, we’ve already lost three parents; this shouldn’t be new territory. But the thing is, you never get used to it. You can never truly prepare your heart for that empty space that will ache without any cure.

I sigh and rise from the couch. Olivia will be home soon, and I plan to have dinner waiting for her. If there’s even a small way I can improve her day, of course I’m going to do it.

I sauté tomatoes and garlic with white wine and have a pot of linguine boiling away when I hear the door open.

“Hello?” Olivia calls.

“In the kitchen.” I finish slicing a loaf of crusty bread and turn off the burners just as Olivia enters the room.

She offers me a sad smile. I know that visiting her dad takes a toll on her. In that moment, I decide she won’t go see him again without me by her side. Even though she’s never admitted it, maybe being alone at the hospital isn’t so good for her. I should be there when she needs someone to lean on, someone to vent to.

Her feet are bare, which means she’s a good seven inches shorter than me, and I pull her in close for a hug. After living together for the past couple of months, I’ve learned that she always immediately deposits those torture devices she calls shoes by the front door, to be carried lovingly to her closet later. She looks great in heels, but I make a mental note to give her a foot massage later.

Olivia rests her head against my chest. “I was thinking . . . we should talk.”

I nod. “Yes, but first, carbs.”

She chuckles. “You know me too well.”

Olivia grabs plates and napkins and sets the table while I drain the pasta and toss it in the homemade sauce, adding plenty of grated parmesan cheese.

We enjoy dinner with a glass each of chilled white wine on the couch, while the TV plays softly in the background. It feels so domestic and normal.

After we finish up, I watch Olivia carry the plates to the kitchen. She’s tossed her hair up into a messy bun atop her head, and though she’s still in her work clothes—a sleek black pencil skirt and cream-colored silk blouse with little buttons at the neckline—she looks casual and relaxed.

As I watch her pour us each another glass of wine, two things hit me simultaneously—I’m in love with her, and I can’t continue like this. I can’t have her in bits and pieces, groveling for her attention, living and working beside her like I’m unaffected, and then fucking her in a frenzy when she deems it okay. I don’t want her scraps; I want her everything.

When she sits back down beside me, I’m prepared to lay it all out on the line. To tell her that we’ve reached the end of the road, and it’s time for her to decide—all or nothing, winner take all. But Olivia beats me to the punch.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us lately,” she says, her voice unsure. She swallows and sets her wineglass down on the coffee table beside mine.

“And what have you been thinking?” I turn toward her on the sofa, encouraging her to continue.

“I can’t do this anymore.” She shakes her head as if she’s clearing an unpleasant thought.

My stomach drops. Like I’m free-falling, plummeting toward disaster with no way to stop it.

“I hate not knowing where we stand, what might happen next.” She twists her hands in her lap, looking uncomfortable.

“And what do you want to happen next?” I almost hold my breath as I wait for her answer.

“I just want . . . things to be better. Like they were before. I . . . I was falling in love with you, Noah,” she stammers.

Love. My heart leaps. Not so long ago, it was a four-letter word that would have sent me running. But here and now, falling from Olivia’s perfect lips . . . I’ve never heard a sweeter sound. I want to seize her in my arms, kiss her hard, pleasure her right here on the sofa. Show her just how badly I’ve missed her.

But I tamp down my excitement and force myself to tread carefully. We’re not out of the woods quite yet.

I interlace our fingers and tug her closer. “Then don’t stop.”

Olivia’s gaze lifts to mine. “I’m scared.”

“I am too,” I admit. We both understand that whatever happens next, we’re in this together. And it will be with two hearts fully on the line, instead of just our jobs. That seems so much more fragile and real that I imagined it would.

“What does this mean?” she asks.

I pull her even closer, so she’s practically in my lap. Stroking her cheek with my fingertips, I press a soft, chaste kiss to her mouth. “It means that we’re in this together, for real this time, as husband and wife. No do-overs, no matter what. I don’t care what happens to the company . . . all I want is you. I want your days and your nights and everything in between. I can’t bear the thought of not having you. I want to be the man to hold you through all of life’s ups and downs.”