by C J Marie
There was a palpable silence in the kitchen as Olive drifted toward the doorway. Her mother flashed a gaze toward her before Olive excused herself from the home. “Have you spoken with Thomas?”
Olive narrowed her gaze. “Absolutely not. He’s left a few messages, but I don’t see the need to speak to him.”
Her mother drummed the countertop. “I would advise you to hear the man out. He was your fiancé, and Beau told me Thomas is torn over losing you.”
“Mother,” Olive gasped. “The man cheated on me—in your home. Forgive me, but I don’t care if he’s torn up.”
With a tight expression her mother shook her head. “Don’t be childish. I’m only asking for you to speak with him, not take him back.”
Olive slipped her purse over her shoulder and returned her rosy sunglasses to her head. “We’ll see, Mama. Thank you for inviting me. We’ll talk later?”
“Olive, don’t forget about the dinner next week. You’ll see to it, Rafe remembers.”
“We’ll be there,” she mumbled, rushing toward the front door. She didn’t want any more talk of Thomas, Whitneys, or how Rafe Whitfield could offer her the stars and he’d still never measure up in the Cutler home.
Chapter 7
Olive had taken four trips to Europe before she was twenty. The history of Italy, London, Germany—the entire area was fascinating. But Honeyville and nearby Charleston, despite the youth of history compared to the thousands of years abroad, had a breadth of historic significance and sights.
Olive smiled against the ocean breeze as she stood atop the old military fort and leaned against the bulky, black cannon perched over the wall. The gilded sun bled behind Sullivan’s Island in the distance, casting ribbons of orange and gold across the ripples of the shore. Olive smiled watching a family snap a few pictures next to the entrance to the weapons magazine below her feet. Her fourth great-granddaddy stood at this place defending the shore against the British. And another, years later in the confederate army. This city ran deep in her blood.
“I should have known when you said we’d meet them at the fort, you’d actually want to go inside it,” Rafe’s laugh came from behind.
Olive grinned over her shoulder and patted the cannon. “That’s a given, Rafe.”
Olive took a subtle scan of his body. Rafe could get grimy and sweaty at work, then clean up nicer than most gentlemen at night. He stalked around the other side of the cannon, leaning one arm over the top. Olive almost swooned when her lungs filled with his spicy, delicious scent. Even in a simple black T-shirt and jeans he was completely edible.
“How many times have we come here?” he teased.
“This place never gets old,” Olive insisted. Rafe shook his head as his phone rang in his pocket. His expression fell when he glanced at the screen, before silencing the device and slipping it back into his jeans. Olive cocked her head. “What’s with the look?”
“It’s nothing,” he offered, but either Rafe knew Olive wasn’t one to give up, or he wanted to get it out in the open. “Dalia’s been calling me lately.”
“You’re kidding. Do go on,” Olive smiled, hoping to conceal the fury webbing in the back of her throat.
With a shrug, he squared his shoulders toward her. “There’s nothing more to say. I haven’t answered.”
Olive kept her eyes trained on Rafe as she waved across the street once Dot’s shrill voice carried to the fort. Rafe ushered her in front of him down the steps to the lower level filled with tunnels and old supply chambers, but once they hit the main walk, they walked side by side toward Sawyer and Dot.
“Have you ever considered talking to her?”
Rafe’s feisty blue eyes met her own, but he shook his head. “What could she say to even justify what she did?”
“Maybe she wants to apologize.”
“Can’t say I care to hear it.”
Olive rolled her bottom lip over her teeth and nodded. “I get it. Mama wants me to talk to Tom since I keep dodging his calls too.”
“Even after what he did she wants you talking to that idiot?”
Rafe had his hands tucked in his pockets, so Olive slipped her hand through the space between his arm and body. Nothing they hadn’t done before, apart from her different reasons for the touch. She had a gritty desire to be closer to the man she’d known since three. He didn’t pull back, or even skip a beat to his step, so Olive immediately halted any self-judgment on her actions and kept her hold on Rafe Whitfield.
“That’s what I said,” Olive exclaimed. “What could I possibly say to him? What reasoning would he have for stepping out? Of course, the gossiper inside of me has a sliver of curiosity to know what Dalia wants to say.”
Rafe chuckled, jogging with her across the street before they were smashed by an oncoming envoy of traffic. “You’d ask me to suffer to give you a little drama in your life?”
“Possibly.”
“Ollie,” Dot squealed, waved, and darted down the sidewalk in front of the fort museum. “Glad you two made it. Oh, Ollie, good choice going with the red dress, suits you so much better than that raunchy pink thing you were considering.” Olive flushed as she inspected the form-fitting dress she thought shaped her hips well. Dot didn’t pause before turning toward Rafe. “Hi there, don’t you look all spiffed-up and handsome. I’d like to introduce you both to Mr. Sawyer Lanford.”
Olive accepted Sawyer’s hand. He was shorter than she’d imagined and had ears that poked out, but his face was handsome and strong like his handshake. “Pleasure to meet y’all,” he drawled, moving on to Rafe with a firm grip. “Dottie’s told me all about you, Olive.”
“Oh, you can call me Ollie, and it’s a pleasure to meet you too.”
Dot slung an arm around Sawyer’s shoulders and beamed. “Alright already, let’s get to it. I’m starving and I’ve heard this place is simply to die for.”
Deciding to ride together, Olive snuck past Rafe as he held open the back door to Sawyer’s Honda. Olive was slightly surprised, she’d expected a Porsche or a Cadillac or something. A refreshing shocker—perhaps, this Sawyer was more down to earth than she’d pictured.
“I think I’m underdressed,” he whispered near her ear. Both her and Dot were in dresses, and Sawyer wore a starched button-down shirt with slacks. Olive scanned him with intention, dragged her tongue across her lips, determined to embarrass the man. “Hey, undressing me with your eyes was not part of our agreement.”
“We’re not using our agreement tonight, now are we?” she taunted. “And relax, you look handsome and charming, you worry wart.”
“Would you just get in the car?”
“So indecisive. You want me to compliment your body and apparel, then you want me to get in the car, make up your mind.”
Rafe shut the door silencing anymore snide comments, but she got a pinch to the waist when he took his place next to her on the seat.
“So, Rafe,” Sawyer asked once they were sailing along with traffic. “What do you do for a living?” A typical first question Olive noticed from men in general. She stiffened and didn’t like the wealth measuring most men—and some women—in her circles kept, but Rafe didn’t hesitate.
“I’m a mechanic,” he replied.
“No kidding?” Sawyer said. “I’ve had this check engine light on for a week now. I was just telling Dottie I need to get it into the shop.” Waving his finger, he smiled. “I’ll be coming to see you, my friend.”
“It’s true. He was talking about it only yesterday,” Dot gushed.
“Bring her in. We’ll get you checked out,” Rafe said, relaxing against the backseat.
Olive grinned. She liked Sawyer Lanford.
Olive settled against the seat, listening to Sawyer, Dot, and Rafe carry on back and forth. Sawyer worked in financials and was currently in negotiations for overtaking a massive pharmaceutical company near Raleigh. He came from old southern money like Dot and Olive, but his mama was a firm believer of her boys making their own way, so he had
no access to his trust fund until thirty-five. Sawyer didn’t say all those things—it was Dot boasting on her man. Olive appreciated when the tips of Sawyer’s ears shaded red at money talk. Down to earth—exactly the sort of guy, Dorothy-Ann needed.
So far a good start to a relaxed night. Brazen and bold, Olive settled her hand on Rafe’s leg as she watched the buildings pass by. They’d known each other for most of their lives, but it seemed only this last week, Rafe was becoming her number one soft, safe place to be. Hands touching that safe place were bound to be a new normal. He glanced at her palm, and met her eye for a single breath, before his strong, grip curled around her fingers.
As much as she tried, Olive couldn’t deny the simple touch caused a raging inferno in the center of her chest that hadn’t been there before.
***
Dorothy-Ann was right about the food, Rafe probably would die to eat there again. He took the black payment book from the waiter at the same time Olive shuffled through her purse and whipped out a credit card.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“You don’t need to pay for me,” she whispered, glancing across the table as Dot pressed smacking kisses along Sawyer’s cheeks as the man was trying to place his own card.
Rafe narrowed his gaze, but Olive only met his eye with her fiery challenge. “Put it away, princess. Let a man keep some sort of pride.”
“Rafe, I can be more stubborn than you,” she insisted, leaning closer. Olive shouldn’t wear that perfume; it was like strawberries and cream with a hint of sugar and now his head was spinning.
“I’d like to see you win this one, Ol.” Their faces were inches apart. Thankfully, Dot and Sawyer were too preoccupied with their locked lips and laughing to notice the pressure stacking across the table.
When had things changed between him and Olive? Rafe had entered countless battles of wits with her, but the way their eyes met in that moment broke through a piece of the wall he’d built to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid like fall for Olive Cutler. Olive swallowed, her golden eyes bouncing back and forth as he studied her face. Gently, he eased a lock of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing down her cheek for a trembling second before Rafe slapped his card in the book and handed it back to the waiter.
Olive’s jaw dropped, and she slugged him in the shoulder. “You sneak. Heaven above, you’re so bullheaded.”
Rafe laughed, threading an arm around her shoulders. He enjoyed laughing with Olive, but he wanted the palpable tension back when they touched. He tugged her flush against his body, so her arms wrapped around his waist to steady herself on her seat. Olive tilted her head to meet his gaze. Staring at her lips close enough to kiss, his mouth watered and Rafe was forced to swallow, hard. Maybe Zac was right—he was going to screw this up.
“Want to go to the beach?” he croaked.
Olive nodded, but Dot squealed, snapping Rafe out of his dangerous trance. “Oh, the beach sounds perfect. Come on, baby,” she muttered, shoving Sawyer’s shoulder. “I need something cold. There’s this amazing little sweet parlor down on the shore.”
Olive’s cheeks flushed when she pulled back, and Rafe caught the three times she tucked her hair over her ears as she stood from her chair. “I need to stop at the restroom first,” Olive mumbled.
“Me too,” Dot squeaked, winking at Sawyer. “We travel in packs, you know.”
Sawyer chuckled and popped a chocolate mint in his mouth before drifting toward the front entrance with Rafe. “So, you and Olive, you two aren’t together? Dottie never made it really clear.”
Rafe cleared his throat uncertain how to handle the question. “Some days we are, I guess.”
Sawyer furrowed his brow, and the movement made the tips of his ears twitch. “I don’t follow.”
“You understand pretenses are important in some families, right?”
Sawyer rolled his eyes. “It’s exhausting if you ask me. I feel for Dottie, if my parents didn’t have money I’m certain her mama would toss me out on my backside. Doesn’t matter what sort of success I’ve achieved mind you. I’m lucky, my parents couldn’t care less so long as my brothers and I are happy.”
Rafe leaned against the wall, grateful the night hadn’t been filled with arrogant glances by Sawyer and Dot. “The nutshell story is Olive needed a fiancé in her family’s eyes—for at least a few weeks—and I was the chosen candidate. She was engaged, you see, but ended it after several engagement parties were already set up.”
Sawyer groaned. “I get it—the shame,” he said sarcastically.
Rafe agreed. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. At parties we’re to smile and play the loving couple, but nights like tonight we can just be us, I guess,” Rafe finished, before popping a mint into his mouth. “But you can’t let on, or Ms. Cutler will skin my hide.”
Sawyer paused, seeming to absorb what Rafe said. “Wait, so you’re not really together? You’re pretending for these parties?” Rafe nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets, the absurdity of the idea raking down the back of his neck. “If you don’t mind me saying, friend, you two could have fooled me tonight.”
“What?” Rafe glanced at Sawyer, who chuckled.
“I’ve been thinking this entire time you’re together. That’s why I asked, since Dottie hinted you weren’t.”
“We’re friends, that’s it. Guys like me aren’t suited for women like Ollie.”
“You going to keep feeding the old world bull then?” Sawyer asked with a grin. “Listen, what do I know, we just met. My opinion though, even if Dottie’s parents said I wasn’t good enough—I want her, so I reckon the good southern boy act would drop, and I’d tell ‘em to where to kiss it.”
If it were so simple, Rafe probably would have claimed Olive as his own a long time ago. That was a thought he kept buried and private—even from August and Zac. Truth be told, he partly blamed himself for what happened with Dalia. She’d known he was friendly with the Cutler family, she understood the history, and in turn his ex was chronically cold about Olive. Rafe missed a few little moments with Dalia, and when she found out Olive was involved in any way, he usually earned the cold shoulder for a day or two.
When Olive started dating Tom, something broke inside. Maybe Rafe had grown distant like Dalia told him all the time. He hadn’t recognized it as jealousy, but when both Olive and Rafe drifted apart to appease significant others, a piece of him emptied and it hadn’t refilled until… now. Dalia shouldn’t have slept with someone else—in his house—but he couldn’t help feeling he had a part to play in it all.
Rafe brushed off his wandering thoughts by clapping Sawyer on his shoulder. “You haven’t met my mother. If she found out I said something even close to that to people like the Cutlers, she’d cancel my birth certificate.”
Sawyer laughed. “I can relate.”
Rafe’s skin raised when a soft hand threaded around his forearm. Olive was back and grinning at his side. “Come on, Rafe. Since you were so stubborn with dinner, I get to buy you some ice cream.”
Sawyer and Dottie didn’t last long at the shore. Rafe suspected the couple wanted some time alone, but as much as he’d found Sawyer a decent sort, and Dot a better woman around the guy, he was glad to be alone with Olive. She hugged her body against the breezy night air, but she was smiling. The chill didn’t seem to bother her as night embraced the Charleston beach houses. Olive’s love for the water was one of the things Rafe had always admired about her. She found joy in the simplest things; like a vase filled with snail shells.
Rafe caught sight of a smooth, iridescent shell jutting out of the sand and snatched it up. He brushed warm sand off the smooth, gleaming face. Rich blues, grays, and burgundies stained the shell in a whimsical pattern. Exactly the sort of thing a shell connoisseur would want. “Ollie, for the beach vase.”
“Oh, this is a pretty one,” she crooned, inspecting the colorful piece. “It’s like a rainbow on this side.” She offered him a watery smile.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Olive shrugged and held tight to the shell as she hugged her body again. “I don’t know, you let me… be me. You don’t make fun of me, or my shells. I want to teach, and you’re one of about two people who think that’s great—Millie is the other one.” She stared at the newest piece for her vase with a light sadness in her eyes. “Tom always made fun of my shells. He teased me saying after we got married the shells were going to vanish mysteriously.”
“Well, that’s because Tom’s porch light is on but no one’s home.”
Olive snickered. “You though,” she leaned against him for a moment, “you pick up shells for the collection. I’m not sure I realized it until recently how you were always that way. I didn’t have any reason to pretend with you, put on my pretty face, or sit up straight. You teased me whether I was gussied up or digging in the mud.”
Rafe’s throat tightened, and he halted in the sand. Olive faced him curiously. He was almost positive she gasped when he took her hand in both of his. Rafe traced her palm gently, digging through his muddled mind for the right words. “Ollie…” he cleared his throat, held her hand, and picked up the pace again. “You don’t ever need to change with me. I’d have a few strong words to say if you put on a face. There were—still are—those people who enjoy letting August and I know just where we stand. How we don’t measure up to people like you—”
“Rafe—”
“No, it’s fine, I’m trying to say you were never one of them. No matter who you were talking to, you had our backs. There were things that happened you didn’t see, but at the end of the day I always knew it didn’t matter where I lived, that I had to get a job in high school, that I’m always grimy and smelly. I don’t worry about it all, not with you.”
“You aren’t smelly,” she insisted.
He laughed. “Well, I guess what I’m saying is I’m glad to be me around you too. Even if you can be annoying.”
She chuckled and shoved him. “I think you’re talking about your less-than redeeming qualities.”
