by Olivia Hayle
His eyes are sour as he ducks out from under Oliver’s grip. “Yes. Good evening, ladies.”
“See that you don’t return,” Logan says.
Oliver and Logan stand, side by side, and watch as Gavin disappears towards the exit. Oliver’s fist is clenched. The tension is clear in his shoulders and evident in every line of his tall frame.
He turns grave, blue eyes on me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Suddenly, I’m not angry anymore. I’m tired. I’m tired of thinking about our fight and of misunderstandings. I want to clear the air between us, and I want to be in his arms again.
Mandy is giving me a faint smile. “Do you want to…?”
“Yes. Is that okay?”
She grabs her bag. “Of course. Let’s go.”
We scoot out of the booth. The guys watch us, silently.
“Heading out?”
“Yes.”
Oliver and Logan escort us to the exit without another word. Logan holds the door for us and we emerge out onto the warm sidewalk. It’s gotten dark and the moon hangs like a lantern in the sky.
“This was fun,” I tell Mandy. “Thanks for coming out.”
“We’ll do it again sometime?”
“Definitely. Maybe somewhere quieter next time?”
“Sounds perfect,” she says and nods towards the parking lot. “Do you want a lift home?”
“Thank you, but I live so close, I’ll walk.”
Oliver clears his throat. “I’ll walk you home.”
Mandy shoots me a look of mixed exasperation and encouragement. “Good luck,” she murmurs as we hug goodbye.
“You too.”
I wave goodbye to Logan and he gives me a faint nod. For the first time since I’ve met him, he looks almost nervous.
It seems like we all got a bit more than we bargained for tonight.
Oliver and I start to walk slowly along Main Street, both of us silent. It’s deserted at this hour, and the oak trees lining the street sway gently in the breeze.
“Are you cold?”
“No, I’m good.”
His jaw is tense, his gaze focused on a point on the horizon. He might have been the one to suggest that we talk, but I doubt he’ll be the one to start.
I don’t know how to start either. It’s important to me that he understands and respects what I do for a living. Too many people in my life have made the wrong assumptions and I couldn’t handle it if he becomes one of them, too.
He reaches for my hand. It’s warm and rough, his fingers twining easily through my own. “I was wrong earlier.”
“Really?”
“Yes. The last thing I meant to imply was… that. I’m not like him.”
Gavin’s slimy smile is forever burned into my mind. “I know you’re not, Oliver.”
“My reaction was jealousy, pure and simple. Not exactly noble.” He runs his free hand through his hair, mussing it up. “But I trust you. You’re great at your job, and you’re the single most…” he shakes his head, lost in thought. “You’re professional and good, through and through.”
Oliver stops and presses a kiss to the back of my hand. Determination glows in his eyes and words spill out of him like a confession. “I’m going to fuck up. I'm going to fuck up a lot, Lucy. But I promise to try to be better. I'm working on myself and on being better.”
“Oliver… I don’t know what to say.”
He cups my cheek with a rough hand, tilting my head back. The storm in his eyes isn’t gone, but it’s settled. Quieted, somehow.
“Don’t give up on me yet, Lucy.”
“I won’t.”
He nods, once, as if he hears my words but doesn’t really believe me. “We can't do what we did today.”
“What do you mean?”
“Argue and then run away. The next time we fight, we have to talk it through. No more repeats of this not-talking thing.”
I bite my lip. “You’re right.”
“I’m including myself in that, you know. After we slept together the first time and I pulled away.”
“I know. We’ll be better.”
He wraps strong arms around me and tugs me back against my favorite place in the world. His chest is hard against my cheek, his skin warm even through his shirt. He smells amazing—like leather and ranch and man. I hope he never lets go.
“Ass,” I murmur, but there’s laughter in my voice.
He smiles against my hair. “Thank you for reminding me when I’m out of line.”
Despite his soft words, there's relief in his voice. I wish I felt the same, but I have things to explain, too. There are things in my past that I haven't shared with anyone in Claremont, a past I sought to bury. But maybe… maybe I can tell Oliver. Maybe I need to if I'm ever to get true closure.
A person can only flee for so long.
“I’m sorry I reacted so strongly earlier. There’s a reason for that, actually.” I take a deep breath. “Can I tell you about my last job?”
22
Oliver
Her eyes are large as she stares up at me. Lucy's nervous about this, about whatever it is she wants to talk about. My heart squeezes in my chest again.
“Let’s go to yours,” I say, wrapping my arm around her waist. I want to make the hollow-eyed look in her eyes disappear. We walk to the bakery in silence. I get the feeling that she’s preparing herself.
The words spill out, one after one, up there in her studio. I pull her against me and listen as she tells me about her old life.
“It was a great spa. One of the biggest in Dallas, actually. We were regularly featured in major national magazines. There were meditation experts, physical therapists, dermatologists, acupuncturists… everything.”
I shudder involuntarily at the last one she lists, and she shoots me a small smile.
“It’s not as painful as it seems.”
“I’m sure, but I’ll still pass.”
"I worked as a masseuse. We were a large team, and we were pretty close for co-workers. I thought we were friends, actually. One day, a VIP client came in. He'd been a patron of the spa for ages. Fancy last name and all that. He had booked an eighty-minute massage, and halfway through he…" she trails off and swallows, staring out into the distance. "He asked me for more. In no uncertain terms, I should add. I said no, but he just kind of laughed and told me that I wouldn’t last long at the spa if that was my attitude.”
Hot anger flashes through me. “What happened?”
“I finished the massage, without anything extra. He left, and later that day I went directly to my supervising boss. I told her everything.” Lucy’s eyes turn hard. “He’d already spoken to her. He told her that I was the one who had propositioned him and asked for payment in exchange for, well, finishing him off. She gave me until the end of the day to pack up my stuff.”
“She didn’t believe you?”
Lucy shakes her head. “No. I asked my co-workers to vouch for me, but it turned out that a few of the girls had taken him up on the offer. He paid well. He was a patron of the spa. It was my word against his. Maybe my boss knew, and she just didn’t want to say anything. I’ll never know.” Her hands are clasped tight in her lap as she finishes, eyes meeting mine. “I didn’t get any recommendations. Two years, I worked there, and I was let go in one day—just like that.”
“Is that why you came to Claremont?”
“Yes. I couldn’t get a job in Dallas after that. It’s a small industry, and rumors spread.”
Lucy is curved inwards, her shoulders sloping, and I hate to see her that way. Her story is like one of my worst nightmares. I can see her there, in that room, standing her ground against the rich fuck who tried to exploit a young massage therapist.
She stood up for herself—she ran away. I understand her impulses perfectly. The desire to start her own spa, to get away from the big city. The importance of handling Gavin herself.
I pull her closer. Her cheek rests against my shoulder
and soft hair tickles my chin. She’s strong, this one. Sweeping into Claremont like a golden whirlwind, with smiles and laughter for everyone, despite running from something as dark as this.
Her finger traces the collar of my shirt. “Remember when you asked me if I’d come work for you? And I asked if you wanted references?”
“Yes.”
“I was so happy when you said no.”
I press a kiss to her temple. “You could have told me. I would have understood.”
“I couldn’t risk it,” she said softly. “What if you didn’t believe my side of the story? So many others didn’t.”
I tilt her head to meet my gaze. She's never been more beautiful to me than she is in this moment. She's offered me a piece of her past, hoping I'd be strong enough to carry it along with her. The trust she has in me is dazzling.
I kiss her, my lips moving softly over hers. “Then they’re fools, and they don’t deserve you.”
The ranch is dark and quiet when I drive back home much, much later. Austin is overjoyed that I’m home, weaving between my legs. He knows better than to jump, but I can see that his body is itching to.
“Missed me, buddy?”
He gives a low whine and rubs his head against my hand. I scratch his soft fur and sigh. What a night. Lucy had gotten deep, deep below my skin, and I wasn’t sure I ever wanted her to leave.
The following days are busy. Sarah is in prime DIY mode, preparing wreaths, styling bouquets, spray-painting seashells… the list goes on. The first wedding of the season is right around the corner, and while it isn't a particularly big one, we have to make it memorable.
I’m even pulled into helping Sarah prepare more of the little vases that only fit one flower. We’re not even putting flowers in them this time, but some sort of eucalyptus branch. It doesn’t really make sense to me.
“Are you sure they want twigs, Sarah?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes. It’s a vibe, very rustic. They requested it.”
“Alright, alright,” I say. “Reviews are everything, after all.”
She tsks. “The memories are everything. They’re only getting married once.”
“Well, if you want to talk statistically…”
“Don’t be a cynic, not today of all days.”
“You’re right. And hey, if we do a good enough job, they might choose us as their venue for their second weddings,” I say with a grin, loving the dismay on her face. Teasing Sarah always pays off.
“Idiot,” she says with an eyeroll. “Mandy can take photos, did you know that? She agreed to photograph all of the decorations before the guests arrive. We can use them to update the website.”
“Perfect.”
“The robes for Lucy’s spa day with the bridesmaids arrived, too. I think we should make sure they’re delivered to her. I can do—oh!”
“What?”
“I forgot to put the ice sculpture in the freezer. It was the only thing the caterers asked me to do.” She tosses a branch to the side and runs to the door. “You had one job, Sarah.”
“Go. I’ll take the robes to the spa.”
"They're by reception, in a large blue box!"
I head out to grab the robes and shake my head at her disorganized genius. Sarah might be scatterbrained, but these weddings inevitably turn out amazing, and it’s all because of her.
I head to the spa with the box under my arm. Lucy doesn’t have any treatments scheduled today, but she told me she’d been there since morning to make sure everything was perfect. Apparently, she’d even planned a bridesmaid yoga session, whatever that was. She’d smiled when she announced it, all sunshine and excitement, and I’d had to stop myself from kissing her right then and there—the staff be damned.
I knock on the half-open door. “Luce? You have a delivery!”
“I do?” She rises from her cross-legged position on the floor, a notebook next to her. “Is it you?”
“Would you object if it were?”
She stands on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to my lips. As if on cue, my body responds, warmth spreading through me. I’ll never get enough of her. “Not at all,” she says. “Where do I sign?”
I hand her the box. “Your robes arrived.”
“Already? That’s great! Oh, Oliver… I really think this will be a great thing for the ranch. They’ll pose in these robes, and it’ll say bride and bridesmaid on the back. I’m sure they’ll share them on their social media, too, and hopefully tag the ranch.”
I have a seat on the waiting sofa. “Stay with me tonight.”
“Again? You’re insatiable.”
“When it comes to you, yes.”
“What do you have to offer?”
“Take-out from Ricky’s. A view of the sunset. A large, king-sized bed.” I pull her down into my lap and sweep the hair back from her neck. She loves kisses there, I’ve learned. It’s something I’m going to exploit. “A man who wants you.”
Lucy gives a soft sigh. “Is it Brad Pitt?”
“Very funny.”
“I’ll stay.”
“Mmm?”
“Mmm. You’re not the only one who’s feeling a bit insatiable.”
Later that night, she has me sprawled on the bed. I don’t follow her instructions and her laughter rings out, pealing and glorious. I can’t help but smile at the sound.
“Just stop arguing and lie down! Yes, like that. Put your head on this.”
I grab the pillow she hands me and stuff it under my head. Lucy sits on the side, grinning at me like the Cheshire cat.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you’re handsome.”
I snort. Right. I’m only in my boxers, lying face-down. My scars will be on full display in this well-lit room, but she’s seen them before. I might as well take the plunge.
Lucy straddles me. The warm weight of her is pleasant, and I can’t help but tease her a little. “Are you sure I shouldn’t turn around for this?”
She puts an admonishing hand on my back. “No. Lie still.”
“Fine.”
But as soon as she starts touching me, all thoughts of mutiny leave me. I wouldn’t move from this position for all the riches in the world. Her hands are magic as they work across my skin. She finds my pressure points within seconds, the knots and sore areas I’ve been neglecting for years. When she pushes against a tender spot between my shoulder-blades, I can’t help but groan.
She sighs. “When was the last time you took care of yourself?”
It’s clearly a rhetorical question, and I’m thankful for that, because I don’t have an answer.
Her hands soften when she reaches my injured shoulder. From her vantage point, I’m sure she can see the bullet wound and the puckered skin from the resulting infection. The wound has long since healed, but the muscles and tendons underneath aren’t what they used to be. My last physical therapist gave me a booklet with exercises to do daily, which I promptly forgot. I have no idea where the booklet ended up.
Lucy’s fingers trace the outline of the scar. “You have to tell me what you feel. If it hurts or if it doesn’t feel okay.”
I nod into the pillow.
“I mean it, Oliver. Slight pain is good, but sharp, shooting pains are not.”
I can't help but smile at her tone. "Yes, ma'am."
Strong, slim hands grow bolder over my shoulder. It doesn't take long until she's working deep into my muscles. She manipulates them slowly, the scarred parts that never really regained full motion. It hurts, but it's good pain.
“You lied to me earlier,” she says. Her voice is deceptively soft in contrast to her strong hands. “When I asked you if your shoulder hurts sometimes.”
Lying beneath her hands, subject to her ministrations, half-naked… what’s the point in denying?
“Yes.”
She sighs, as if that clarifies everything, and bends down to kiss my shoulder. “Will you let me do this weekly?”
“Weekly? You can
do it daily.”
Lucy laughs. “It won’t always be this nice, not if it’s going to be effective.”
I feel her stretch out, hands still working into my back. Her body is draped along the length of mine. I can feel the curve of her hip, one of her slender legs thrown over mine.
Her hands knead into the sore muscles of my shoulders, and I can't help my reaction. It's instinctual. I groan into her neck and throw an arm around her waist. I flip us over so I'm half-lying on her like a pillow, her hands in my hair and on my muscles.
It’s been an eternity since I’ve been cared for like this, touched for longer stretches of time than just for a casual sexual encounter. Touched simply for the joy to run your hands over someone else’s skin.
Lucy runs her nails lightly over my back and I shiver. “Oliver?”
“Yes?”
“Do you talk to someone? About the PTSD?” Her voice is hesitant and smooth, as if she’s afraid of my reaction. But for the first time in a long while, the word doesn’t make me recoil.
“Not at the moment, but I have an appointment next week.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” I sigh against her soft skin. How does she always smell so amazing? “It’s been a while. But I called him again recently.”
Lucy nestles close and kisses my cheek. “That’s great.”
I sigh again and open my eyes. Hers are green, wide and earnest as they look into mine. “For the longest time, I didn’t think I’d laugh in a woman’s bed again. I didn’t think I had anything to offer.”
She smiles, achingly sweet. “You do.”
“You might still have to be patient with me from time to time.”
“I can be patient.” Her hand loops back and covers my shoulder. I know she’s thinking about the scar, and even if I don’t want to revisit things, she has a right to know.
And perhaps… perhaps telling her might make some of my memories a bit easier to bear. She trusted me with her past. I can be brave enough to the same to her.
So I rest my head against her neck and take a deep breath. “It was an ambush,” I say.