Page 11 of Olivia’s Only Pretending (Sweet River #3)

Nine

T exas fall was moody. Some days, it was crisp and cool, and then by the afternoon, it was sticky and humid.

Tonight, as we strolled across the dimly lit campus, there was a light chill in the air. I rubbed my bare arms. Victor’s eyes tracked the movement.

He had slipped on a dark sports coat after he parked his truck. Noting my cold arms, he immediately shrugged it off and wrapped it around my shoulders.

It was warm and smelled like him. I tugged it tighter around me as we walked up the cement steps toward the wide glass doors of the history building.

“You know,” he whispered, leaning closer to my ear, eyeing his jacket around my shoulders, “you do look like my girlfriend right now.”

I grinned as he pulled the door open for me.

“Olivia!” Gabby raced over to me, her long, velvety, plum dress swaying at her ankles. “I—” But then she stopped, her gaze stopping on Victor. “Wait, you brought Victor?”

“Duh.” Victor slung an arm around me, his fingertips pressing into my shoulder.

“Yeah, the invitation said we could bring a plus-one,” I said.

“Are you wearing his jacket?” Gabby crossed her arms, eyes assessing the two of us.

“I was cold.” I shimmied the jacket off my shoulders.

Victor’s face fell.

I immediately missed the warmth. “What’s up?”

Gabby chewed on her lip, as if she were considering asking something else.

“Okay, this whole situation distracted me. I came over to tell you that the bar has fall-themed cocktails, and they’re actually good.

So, come along.” She grabbed my hand to drag me through the sea of fellow professors, department aids, and staff.

The scent of warm perfumes and cheesy appetizers wafted by my nose.

I glanced behind me to make sure I hadn’t lost Victor. His eyes were on me, smirking amusedly at this other version of me. The one who wore silky dresses, attended events with open bars, and had work friends who definitely knew about him.

I asked the bartender for a spiced apple fizz, and Victor got a maple old fashioned. The hard apple cider and honey were warm on my tongue. A couple of my work friends joined us by the bar, eager to meet my date , Victor.

Victor fit naturally into my evening, into this other part of my life.

He asked thoughtful questions, eager to learn everything he could about Professor Olivia.

His arm was always around me, which hadn’t been part of our game plan, but I guess we didn’t have one.

There was no label, no rules, letting how we fit together say it all.

His presence felt steady, comforting, and frighteningly addictive.

I was taking the last crisp sip of my drink, deep in conversation with the head of my department, Dean Oates, about the coming semester, when Victor chimed in.

“I’ve loved hearing about Olivia’s romance book club with the students,” he said, beaming.

My heart stopped. The book club was ninety percent accidental, and I hadn’t ever run it by the department. It honestly felt separate, like a vacation, from the school. I wasn’t sure how my bosses would react.

I glanced nervously toward Victor for help, but he was the one who’d randomly dropped the conversation dynamite.

Dean Oates raised an eyebrow, her glossy lips pursed. “Romance book club?”

“Yeah, it was honestly just a few friends reading romance books together, and a few students joined in …” I put the empty glass to my mouth and took a fake sip, my mouth suddenly dry. “It’s very unofficial.”

“You know, I’ve heard some rumblings about this book club here and there, now that you mention it.” She tucked a strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear. “I’ve heard the students really love it.”

“You should see a couple of the emails students have sent her thanking her for including them,” Victor chimed in. He gave my arm an encouraging squeeze.

“I’m not surprised. I know I’d love to be part of something like that. Nothing like decompressing with a romcom,” Dean Oates said.

I tried to imagine professional, academic Dean Oates curled up with one of my favorite romcoms.

“Honestly, some of the kids have actually drawn some parallels toward what we’re studying and learning with some of the romances we’re reading.

It’s been fun to hear it pop up in our book club chats.

” I felt myself talking quicker in that way I did when someone got me started on something I was passionate about.

“I love that, Dr. Rhodes. It’s been fun to see some of the ways academia is starting to utilize and embrace popular culture.

Here it is popping up naturally on campus.

” She smiled, then someone across the room caught her eye.

She raised a hand to them. “It’s been nice to chat and nice to meet you.

” She smiled at Victor. “I have someone over there I need to talk to.”

She hurried away in her heels.

I spun to Victor. “I’m so relieved she loved the idea of our book club.” I laughed breathlessly. “I would go down swinging for that club.”

“See? You totally undersell yourself,” he said, shaking my shoulders in faux frustration, grinning down at me. “Olivia Rhodes, you have such good ideas. Such good instincts.”

“Like bringing you as my date?” The words tumbled out. Stupid fizz.

He chuckled. “Like your passion about this book club. Follow your passion, Liv. It ends up bringing good things into your life.”

Like it brought me to this school. And to my book club. And to my historical house.

And to Victor.

“Passion has always scared me,” I confessed, my voice soft, as if I couldn’t quite commit to sharing this with him. The room was loud around us.

“Your dad?”

Victor knew. He’d heard my stories. Most of my life, passion had sounded impulsive and reckless to me, like when I was eight years old and my dad packed up one night and left my mom and sisters.

Mom had always described Dad as passionate .

She’d said he was just too passionate. He couldn’t be tied down.

So, I didn’t have any use for passion or recklessness while growing up. Better yet, I had an aversion to it.

I’d spent most of my life searching for the opposite of my father. Where he had been reckless, I sought structure. While he’d left my family, I stayed.

I looked for what had put the pieces of our family back together after he broke us—and my mom. She rebuilt a life for us through long night shifts, raising three girls on a nurse’s salary, and sheer willpower. Her steady presence, fierce commitment, and fastidious work ethic—that was my blueprint.

I found comfort in my mirrored work ethic. My own planner was clutched tight. My to-do lists and routine were something I could rely on.

I liked that my job didn’t rely on whims or feelings.

It revolved around things you could rely on, like research, facts, and best of all, history .

History stayed still. It wasn’t going anywhere.

Most of my colleagues and I had committed our entire work lives to a specific era.

We were a committed bunch—no flights of fancy. No changing our minds.

Victor cleared his throat, waking me from my thoughts. “It surprises me. You’re obviously passionate about history, you know.” His voice was as soft, gentle as mine had been. I leaned in closer to hear him.

“I guess that’s one way to describe it.” The room was warm, crowded. Someone bumped into me with an apologetic wince.

“Maybe your dad was passionate. He was also selfish. And dumb. Those were probably his worst problems.”

“Immature, too,” I added. That was another way my mom had always described him.

“Plus, your mom is always passionate.”

My brows furrowed. I wasn’t sure I agreed. I also wasn’t sure this party was the place for our conversation.

“About you and your sisters—she’s the most passionate. All of you Rhodes women are.” He took a sip of his drink, giving me a beat to process.

I chewed on my lip, Victor’s tender gaze on me. “I guess I just like to do my research first.”

“Yeah, yeah. I love my little bookworm. But don’t mistake stagnation for preparation, Liv.”

His words sliced through, a knife between my ribs. I looked up, mouth agape.

“I want to see you—” But before he could finish his thought, we were interrupted.

“Well, hello,” Ryan said, his eyes on me, his back toward Victor. He followed my eyes past his shoulder toward Victor. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey, man.” Victor lifted his chin, hands in his pockets.

“I thought I’d check in,” he said apologetically, shoulders rising with each word.

“On?” I asked.

“How you’re … doing?” It felt like he’d wanted to say “holding up” but stopped himself.

“She’s great. Dean Oates was just talking about how excited she is for Liv to start putting together the curriculum for her own class next semester,” Victor said, stepping beside me, slinging an arm around my shoulder.

Ryan’s eyes went wide. “Wow, Olivia, that’s a big step for you.”

I burrowed deeper into Victor’s arm, his fingers brushing my shoulder. “I’ve been doing my research, compiling ideas.”

“If you need advice, I’m here the next few weeks!” Ryan chuckled.

Victor’s smile fell flat.

“Sure,” I said. Please, someone, say cocktail hour is over.

“Man, I’m trying to remember when I started designing my own classes.” Ryan squinted, eyes upward.

“I’m sure it’s been a while. Honestly, you should be asking Liv for advice now.

She is so good at knowing what her students need.

She even has a book club with her students that’s been a huge hit.

” Victor’s eyes were on me the entire time he spoke, like he was really saying all of this as a reminder to me.

“Oh, a book club?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, a romance book club.” Victor beamed.

Ryan smirked. “I forgot about your little guilty pleasure.”

“Guilty pleasure?” Victor asked, tugging me closer.