All My Life

by C J Marie

  Rafe blew out a long breath. “I think what I said hurt her feelings. She tried to brush it off, but here we are. Back to barely talking again.”

  “Then fix it.”

  “Why? It’s not real.”

  Zac opened his truck door and climbed in, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel. “One because she’s your oldest friend, so that should count for something. Answer this for me, Rafe. Do you want Olive more than a friend? Forget pretending, what do you want in real life?”

  Rafe’s stomach tightened. The wall of apprehension was so thick it would take more than a want to break through all the reasons he shouldn’t pursue Olive. “It doesn’t always matter what we want.”

  “So, yes,” Zac huffed. “My advice, since I’m the poster-boy of long-term relationships, go out with her. Not for this fake crap, not with anyone, just you two. Tell Olive the truth, man. I’ve got to go, but don’t screw anything up while I’m gone, yeah?”

  “Tuck in your shirt, Zac,” Rafe called before Zac closed the door earning him a puzzled look. “Her mom, she’ll be impressed if you tuck in your sloppy shirt.”

  Zac offered one more rude gesture before peeling out of the parking lot. Rafe leaned against his truck again. It was only two in the afternoon. As much as Zac wasn’t the Posterchild for fulfilling relationships, he was right about Olive. They needed to talk, as them. No stress, no lies, only them.

  After a good shower, a change of clothes, and attempting to tame his thick hair, Rafe stood in the hallway, nodding his thanks to a teacher who directed him to the right place. He smiled at the paintings decorating the expanse of the wall. Kids must have been painting what they wanted to be when they grew up. Big dreams. There were several presidents, astronauts, doctors, one wanted to be a Tibetan monk. To each their own.

  He stopped outside the door, listening to Olive’s sweet voice. Ten minutes until the dismissal bell according to the schedule at the front office. Rafe leaned one shoulder against the open door. Olive stood at the front of the class where several students were lined up. Each child wore either a cloud, rain, or sunshine headbands. Her back was turned away as she vividly described the basics of the water cycle.

  Rafe smiled when she snapped her fingers and the children at the front fell into character. The clouds began storming, the rain splashed dramatically. A boy who was meant to be a puddle or pond splayed on the carpet until the sunshine girl rocked back and forth and it began again. The official teacher of the class was reading at her computer in the back of the room as Olive taught.

  “Miss Cutler,” a little girl squeaked, glancing at the door. “There’s a man here.”

  The teacher at the back peered over her reading glasses at the same time Olive glanced over her shoulder. There was a definite flush in her cheeks when she met his eye. He smiled and waved gently.

  “Boys and girls,” Olive muttered, forcing her smile back on her face. “This is my friend, Mr. Whitfield. What perfect timing,” she grinned with her hands on her hips. “We have time for one more cycle. I wonder if you ask extra polite, I bet we could convince Mr. Whitfield to play a part. What do you say?”

  The class giggled and clapped, twenty pairs of eyes reeling on Rafe, and in unison the class squealed. “Please, Mr. Whitfield!”

  Rafe scowled playfully at Olive who only laughed. “Uh, oh. I think Mr. Whitfield is a little shy. Should we try one more time?” Again high-pitched pleas rang through the class. The teacher leaned back in her chair, smiling and waiting. Rafe shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped into the classroom.

  “Alright, what am I to do?” he muttered.

  “Be the sun!”

  “The rain!”

  “The cloud!”

  Endless suggestions riled up the children, until Olive held a finger to her lips and the room silenced. “I think Mr. Whitfield would be best suited as the rain cloud since he’s so tall.”

  It was an accepted consensus. Rafe met her sparkling gaze as Olive went on her tippy toes to place the adjustable headband on his head. “You think this is funny, don’t you?” he whispered. Olive bit her lip, holding in a laugh and nodded.

  “Okay, one more time. I’m not going to help you, now.”

  With a snap of her fingers the theatrics began. A little buzz-cut boy tugged on Rafe’s arm, pointing at the second storm cloud headband. “We crash together. We’re the storm.”

  Rafe nodded, and lowered to his knees, bumping his shoulder with the boy. Children squealed and clapped through the entire water cycle until the bell to line up for the busses sounded.

  “Well done, Olive,” the teacher beamed. “I’ll take them out to pickup”

  “Thank you, Ms. Fry,” Olive said, inching to the desk to gather her things. Some children jumped up to give Rafe high-fives on their way out. When the room was empty, Olive turned away from him, and the tension he’d kept in his chest since their kiss built again.

  “You’re good at this, Ollie,” he confessed.

  “Thanks. I must say, that was a surprise seeing you at the door. What brings you here?”

  She tucked a flyaway piece of hair behind her ear. He took her in. In many ways she would always be the Olive Cutler who grew up in the Big House, but he loved seeing her in her casual cut off pants and school themed T-shirt. She was stunning in pearls and dresses, but the way her eyes ignited teaching her kids, Rafe knew this was the real Olive.

  Taking a deep breath he stepped closer. “I wanted to see if I could take you out tonight.”

  Olive furrowed her brow. “Out, like a date?”

  He nodded. “I feel like we need to step away from things and be us for a night. Alone.”

  Olive swallowed with effort. He knew the feeling. “Is everything okay?”

  He chuckled and reached for her hand before he could stop himself. “Everything’s fine. There’s been a bit of distance between us since the last time.” The bridges of Olive’s cheeks turned pink, but she nodded. “It’s not going to be fancy.”

  She smiled, modeling her outfit. “Do I look ready to do fancy?”

  “So does that mean you’ll go out with me?”

  Olive smiled and threaded her hand around his arm. “Lead the way, Mr. Whitfield.”

  ***

  In Olive’s opinion, greasy, cheesy, sloppy burgers were classic and comforting. Rafe laughed across the filmy table, handing her a napkin as barbecue sauce dripped over her lip. “Are you impressed with my manners?” she snickered, wiping her mouth.

  Rafe bit into fried okra, the only thing that brought him pure joy, at least that’s what Olive teased him about. “It’s a good thing I’ve seen you eat burgers before; I knew what to expect.”

  She tossed a piece of French fry at his face, drawing out one of his rumbling laughs. “Yes, well, don’t let my mother know.”

  “My lips are sealed, Ol.” They settled into a quiet for a few breaths until Rafe leaned back and glanced out the window. “Want to go for a walk?” He nodded toward the bustling sidewalk that led into the historical district of Charleston.

  Olive nodded. “Sure.”

  Rafe held open the diner door, and Olive forgot how to breathe when Rafe’s hand curled around hers. “Is this okay?” he asked.

  “Why do you want to hold my hand?” Her question was accusatory. Olive wasn’t a fool, she knew what they were going to talk about, so it was a way to gauge what was going on in that beautiful head of his.

  Rafe tightened his grip and glanced at her as they drifted into the crowds. “Because I’ve found I miss touching you.”

  Her insides popped with a single glance. “What do you want, Rafe?”

  She was grateful he understood, and she didn’t need to explain her question in depth. “Ol,” he began. “I want to make sure you didn’t misunderstand me at the creek.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It’s not easy to find the right way to say this, so if I sound like a fool, forgive me now, alright?”

  Olive laughed softly. “I alwa
ys do, Rafe.”

  “You matter to me, Olive.” Blunt and to the point. She liked it. “You know that, I hope. I don’t think—more like a part of me, doesn’t think acting on feelings is a good idea.”

  “What feelings, Rafe?” she pressed with intention.

  He scowled at her, but grinned at the same time. “You’re killing me. You know what I’m talking about.”

  She snickered. “Maybe I want to hear you say it, you big baby.”

  “Fine, princess. Feelings like maybe… being friends isn’t enough. Happy now?”

  Olive bit her tongue on accident when her jaw pulsed and salivated with the thought of Rafe’s kiss. “Yes, I am.”

  “Sometimes I wish I had the last name Whitney,” Rafe whispered. Olive met his eye with surprise. “Only because then there wouldn’t be a line drawn in the sand… with you.”

  “I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap,” she chided. “Being a Whitfield is you, Rafe. Why does there need to be a line at all?”

  She stopped walking, bringing his palm against her cheek. Rafe’s easy grin had faded, and now his face seemed filled with torment. “You know that answer as much as me, Ollie.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  He rested his forehead against hers. Olive closed her eyes, breathing in the spice of his skin. “But if you’re honest with yourself, it does in a way. For both of us. What would you do when your mama and daddy disapproved? Because you know they would.” Olive’s palm was clammy and sticky in his. She checked herself—and with shame at her cowardice, she couldn’t say for sure. When she didn’t answer, Rafe pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and hugged her tight. “I’d never want to put you in that position, you see that, right? I respect your family too much. I really believe you deserve the world, Ollie.”

  “But so do you, Rafe,” she said. “Why can’t you see that? Why, through all the years I’ve known you, why do you sell yourself short around me? You know what, sometimes I wish my name wasn’t Cutler. Sometimes I wish I could be braver and not fear disappointment. Sometimes I wish we’d met at public school, that I was the one you’d kiss under the bleachers, that we’d scrimp and save like August and Lily, but I can’t change where I come from, neither can you. Why do we let it matter if we both want something more?”

  He rested his chin on top of her head. “Maybe it will take time, Ollie. It’s selfish of me not to think of what position having me around would put you in.”

  She closed her eyes and pulled back. “Rafe—”

  Olive lost her breath when their lips came close enough to touch. “Ol, it’s not… easy to forget what you’ve been told your entire life. I’m not suited for you—over and over, that’s what I was told. Each time broke me a little. From the day I started noticing girls, I noticed you, do you understand?”

  “But you don’t want me enough to do anything about it,” she breathed against his lips.

  Rafe glared at her in the dark. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  “Then do something about it, Rafe.”

  “It’s not that easy, Ollie. You could turn your back on everything. I’m not ready to ask you to do that.”

  Olive pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’m not sure you’ll ever be, because I don’t think anything will ever change unless we dare change it.”

  “Olive…”

  She wiped a stray tear, but smiled at him. Pulling him toward the large park surrounded in towering oaks and blooming flowers, Olive sat on the steps of a monument near the far end. A bronze statue of George Washington met the bustling street ahead of them, but for a moment they could be alone in the humble twilight. Silently taking in the night as a tour group passed by, Olive leaned back on her palms. “I think that’s a ghost tour,” she whispered, pointing toward the crowd.

  Rafe glanced, his brow furrowed, but he nodded. “I suppose.”

  Olive grinned. “I love this place, Rafe. Those people, they’re learning all the mystery, magic and history here. But,” She hung her head slowly. “Sometimes I hate it too. The stubbornness, the unwillingness to change. I can’t pretend there’s hope anymore, when it seems there’s not. I’m not ashamed to say I want you, Rafe Whitfield.”

  He rested his elbows on his knees when he took his place at her side. “But…”

  “But, until you see it, I can’t keep hoping. I can be your friend, but the back and forth—I’m afraid—my heart can’t take it.”

  They said nothing for a long pause, watching the tour guide explain the sightings of supposed spirits in the park. The tourists were wide-eyed taking in everything, hardly noticing the solemn expressions of the two people on the marble steps of the monument.

  “Olive,” Rafe muttered. “I wish I could tell everyone to screw themselves. Hurting you would be the last thing I’d ever want. When your mother asked me to do this… engagement with you, I knew it would be a risk. I thought I could get through it without these feelings coming to the surface again.”

  “What are you saying, Rafe?” she asked when he didn’t continue.

  “I don’t expect you to wait, or anything. I guess… know that I’m trying, Ollie. I’m trying to change my thoughts, I’m just not sure I’ll ever deserve you.”

  She closed her eyes, choking back the sting of more tears. “The feeling is mutual, Rafe. I only wish you’d see what a wonderful man you are, no matter what your name is. Over everything—that is what I’d want.”

  Inside her heart turned to glass and shattered along the walkway. How could anyone understand unless they lived the way Rafe and Olive had lived? Like a classic tragedy, life, expectations, opinions, clouded the path to each other. She understood Rafe’s predicament. Truly. If he cared for her like she cared for him, Rafe was asking a woman he’d kept in his heart to turn away from her upbringing and accept something he considered less than adequate.

  Olive disagreed with the logic, but she also knew she buried the truth of her own demons. Olive would do just about anything to please her parents. It was enough of a detour from expectations that she taught outside of the academies. It was enough she tussled with men like Rafe instead of men like Beau, and Thomas. To burst in the door and exclaim love for such a man—Olive couldn’t imagine the fall out.

  In the furrows of her soul, Olive believed Rafe Whitfield was worth it, she simply wasn’t sure if her sentiments were shared.

  It might be a simple choice for some. But again, unless someone walked a mile in her shoes, and Rafe’s, the struggle couldn’t be understood entirely. And it broke her heart all over again.

  Chapter 11

  Olive stood outside of the gallery with Dot. The red heels were already hurting her arches, and Olive didn’t like the way the crimson dress fit on her arms. Mama insisted on the red—it was some sort of artsy theme to the night where everyone wore red, black, or white.

  “Why didn’t you drive together?” Dot asked, fanning her face. Dot opted for white and looked regal in the tight dress, classy pearls, and stilettos.

  “He had a family meeting for his mama,” Olive said. “They’re discharging her next week.”

  Dot nodded. “This place seems about as exciting as a graveyard. Why is this one of the events for your fake set-up? I’d skip it myself if my mama wasn’t here too and demanded I show my face.”

  “It’s for a client of daddy’s. He’s an artist on the side, but he’s a prominent client. It’s not for the engagement really, but Mama insisted we show up and be introduced. Looks like we’re both at the whims of our mothers, Dot.”

  She giggled and nodded before facing Olive with a knowing look. “How are you doing with all this, Ollie?” Dot asked sincerely. Sawyer was having a good influence on her friend. Olive couldn’t remember a time where Dot wanted to know her true feelings.

  “It’s fine,” Olive muttered. “I don’t like deceiving people, especially Millie. I’m afraid she’ll be torn up when she finds out… we aren’t together.”

  “Sawyer likes Rafe, you know.
”

  Olive smiled, glancing down the road for any sign of his truck. “Rafe likes Sawyer. I do too. You two make a great couple, Dot.”

  “Yeah? I think so too,” Dot beamed. “I see you, Ollie. I see the way you’ve been looking at Rafe.”

  Olive sighed. “I’m fine, Dot. Don’t worry, I know how you feel about things.”

  Dot nodded. “I might have opinions, but then, opinions change.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Dot flicked her brows and turned on her heel. “Who knows what I mean? I’m going inside, so you two can make a grand entrance together. If you need me, I’ll be drinking wine and yearning for the day Sawyer comes back to town.”

  “You’re hopeless,” Olive chuckled.

  Dot nodded. “I am, but then I think you are too.”

  It didn’t matter if Dot’s opinion was changing, not if Rafe didn’t change his thoughts too. Although, it was a welcome turn of events to have slightly more support for her forbidden feelings she obviously wasn’t good at hiding.

  “Ollie,” Rafe’s baritone snuck up behind her.

  She startled clutching her chest. “You scared me,” she chuckled, slapping his arm. “Where’s your truck?”

  Rafe pointed up the road. “The lot was full. I’m up a bit. Ready to go inside?”

  She sighed, straightening his red tie, and nodded. “Yes. I should warn you I think this will be a rather boring night.”

  Rafe laughed softly and clasped her hand. She sucked in a sharp breath when his thumb ran across his grandmother’s ring. Olive didn’t think this would be so difficult, but the more he touched her, the more they acted, the stronger her desire grew.

  “We’ll make our own fun then,” he said.

  Olive grinned, slipping into the door of the building. “How did the meeting go?”

  Rafe’s eyes brightened. “Pretty good. She’s ready. I’ve got a therapist coming to my place next week to do some kind of home evaluation and make sure I’ve got everything in order. They think it will be temporary. If she wants, mama could live on her own once she’s stronger. Driving might be a different story, but I think the idea of being in her own space was appealing to her. I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t want to live with me the rest of her life.”