Page 17 of Olivia’s Only Pretending (Sweet River #3)

Twelve

Victor

good morning to the rule-breaking-roof-climbing Olivia Rhodes ;)

now go check your doorstep.

I slipped on my house shoes, and while still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I shuffled over to my front door.

When I opened the door, my eyes dropped to my black slingbacks neatly placed on the welcome mat. Alongside them was a paper bag and a to-go coffee cup from my favorite spot.

I scooped everything up in my arms, a slow smile spreading across my face.

Of course he did . Because Victor always found the seemingly small, but most intentional ways to help.

I called him after I brought the items inside.

“You get your delivery?” Hearing Victor’s deep, raspy voice made my heart swell, even over the phone.

I rested my hip against the kitchen island, with my phone in one hand and the coffee cup in the other. “When did you go back to get my shoes?”

“After I dropped you off last night. Those are your favorite shoes.”

I wore those shoes pretty much anytime I dressed up, and he’d noticed .

“Victor, you didn’t have to do that. You added an extra, what, hour to your night by driving there and back?” The paper cup was warm in my hand, smelling of clove and cinnamon. I took a sip.

“Don’t worry about it. I wanted to make sure they didn’t get lost or stolen.

” He yawned into the phone. It was still early.

He’d made sure to drop it all off before I left for work, too.

This way, I could have my chai latte and, I peeked into the bag, an apple butter scone from Coffees and Commas before I left for work.

“I appreciate you saving my favorite shoes. And for bringing me breakfast.”

“I do have an in with the owner,” he said, referring to his older sister Katie, who owned Coffees and Commas, the café bookshop downtown. “She knows your favorites.”

You’re my favorite , bubbled up to the top of my mind, surprising me. I swallowed it back. “Katie wasn’t the one who stayed up late on the shoe rescue mission,” I said. “That was you. So you.”

“Well …” He sighed. I could nearly see him rubbing a hand over his chin scruff. “You’re my best friend. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“You’re my best friend, too.” I took a soft, warm bite of buttery scone. “You bring me shoes and scones. No better friend than you,” I said through a mouthful.

I t was the first day of October, and the school was kicking it off with a big fall festival. They were setting up booths and tables as I walked down the campus sidewalk under a heavy, gray sky. The air smelled of wet leaves.

I made it into the office to drop off my bags before my first class of the day, Introduction to Roman History.

“Will we be seeing Victor this afternoon?” Sonny, the department secretary, raised a curious brow as I attempted to rush by her desk.

I’d told Victor he didn’t have to try and fit this into his busy day. I could handle this small festival myself. Honestly, I was realizing I could handle the presence of Ryan way easier than I’d expected. But Victor had firmly told me, I’ll be there .

“Yeah, he’ll be here.” I adjusted my bag strap.

“He sure was a hoot at the dinner last night.” She leaned back in her leather desk chair until it creaked. “I like him.”

“I like him, too.”

“He likes you, but you know that, right?” she said, her expression serious. But then her voice softened in a way that she reserved for moments when she was imparting random bouts of wisdom. “You don’t always get one that sweet on you.”

“I don’t know. It’s pretty casual.” My bag was growing heavy on my shoulder.

“You sure about that? The way he looked at you didn’t seem all that casual.” She crossed her arms. “The man followed you around like a lovesick puppy.”

“Early days and all,” I muttered, glancing toward my office door. “We were, you know, friends first. We’re taking it slow.”

“Well, I’m just going to say it again: you don’t always get one as crazy about you as he seems to be. Not everyone has it in ’em to love like that.”

I chuckled, because whatever facade we’d put on last night, Victor does love well, even if it’s just how he loves his best friends or his family. “You’re right. He’s pretty special.”

Sonny hummed. “I like him,” she said again as I hurried out of the office.

I shook my head. The Victor Effect .

I was typing at my computer, catching up on emails, when a light tap on my door caught my attention. I glanced at the doorway to find Dean Oates popping her head into my office, short dark hair curling to her chin.

“Hi, Dr. Rhodes.”

“Come in.” I waved her inside.

“How’re you today?” she asked as she took a seat across from my desk.

“I’m doing well. Yourself?”

“Well, I’d intended to talk with you more at the party, but the night got away from me.

I know you’re working on pitching your own syllabus for the spring semester.

I wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling about that.

I’m available if you want to bounce any ideas off me. ” She smiled encouragingly.

I crossed my legs behind my desk. “Well …” I had several ideas. Questions brimmed at the top of my mind. I loved Dean Oates and valued her input. “I have a few ideas I’m sifting through.”

“Anything in particular?”

I’d recently read about courses being offered that used elements of popular culture to enhance a course or even use it as a means to study a specific topic. I opened my mouth to ask her, but then, I thought, who am I to start something like that here?

I’m one of the youngest professors. This is my first time putting together my own course. People are expecting me to do it a certain way.

I’d sound silly.

So, I bit my tongue. “Not yet,” I said, giving a halfhearted half smile.

“You know, I have a few ideas I can float by you,” Dr. Oates said. She shared a few courses she knew the department had been considering implementing, even the course Dr. Lewis was pushing for me to take on.

These ideas were great, although not at all what I’d been envisioning.

It was so kind of her to take the time to share them with me, so I nodded along.

Though everything she said only confirmed my suspicion that there was definitely a direction the department was expecting me to take.

Any fresh or trendy class ideas might take people aback.

We shook hands as she left, and my heart sank a little.

I knew she probably walked back to her office feeling good about our conversation and would report back to the rest of the department that I was on the right track.

But I felt like I’d let myself down, biting my tongue when I should’ve spoken up.

I found myself glancing at my watch and the clock on my computer, over and over, counting the hours and minutes until I got to escape to the fall festival down on the campus grounds. Until I got to see my best friend.

P umpkins and bales of hay were scattered across the campus.

Fall had arrived at our little college. I skipped down the steps outside the history building and was hit with the scent of fresh apples, cinnamon, and the pre-rain smell in the air.

The air wasn’t necessarily cold today, but it was cooler under the haze of gray and muted sunlight.

I’d worn a long red button-down open over a white tank top. My hair was in a low bun.

Victor gave the bun a light tug in greeting. “Hey, baby girl.” He winked as I turned to him. He had his leather jacket on over his white T-shirt.

“Hey there, it’s my hero.” I slid an arm around him for a hug, which he turned into a full embrace and lifted me off my feet, making me giggle. But I could feel a few eyes on us.

There’s Olivia and her hot, new boyfriend .

He set me back on my feet, with his arms still around my waist, mine around his, smiling up at each other, easily selling the idea that we were something more than friends.

“Pie walk? Pumpkin carving? Candied apples? What’s up first?” he asked.

“Pumpkin carving. The last few years, the pumpkins ran out fast.” I snaked my hand into his and led him toward the pumpkin carving tent.

We got in line, but we didn’t drop our hands. His warm fingers were still tangled in mine. It’s just the charade , I reminded myself, an attempt to calm my excitedly beating heart. He’s just trying to make the Ryan fiasco easier on me.

Even though Ryan wasn’t even in sight.

I introduced him to a couple of my students as we slowly moved up in line. When one of the students called me his favorite professor, Victor gave my hand a little squeeze and shot me one of his proud smiles.

It was finally our turn in the pumpkin carving tent. We walked up to the long table lined with pumpkins for us to choose one and carry it over to the carving stations, which were set up at smaller tables with backless stools.

“I like this one.” Victor pointed at a big orange pumpkin with a bit of a slant. “He looks like one we could turn into a vampire or something.”

“Okay.” I cocked my head to the side. “I think I see the vision.”

Victor scooped up the pumpkin and carried it over to an empty carving station. A student working the booth had just set out a fresh knife, spoon, and a couple of thick black markers. We sat side by side at the plastic table, arms touching.

I picked up the marker. “So, a vampire?”

“A vampire.” Victor rubbed his hands together excitedly. His eyes were eager on me as I drew the two triangular eyes and then added fangs to the mouth.

I dropped the marker when I was done, feeling pretty proud of my work.

Victor examined the pumpkin skeptically, then cleared his throat. “The fangs are good, but his eyes look too friendly for a vampire.”

“Too friendly?”

“Yeah, I think a vampire needs menacing eyes.”

I chewed on my lip, trying to figure out how to make triangle pumpkin eyes … more menacing. After a couple of minutes, I picked the marker back up and made the eyes more angled, thicker. “Menacing enough?”

Victor tapped his chin. “He needs eyebrows.”

I squinted at our pumpkin. He could use eyebrows.

Once we’d finished the outline, Victor glanced down at the knife, then back up at me. “You want to carve?”

I nodded eagerly. “My family never carved pumpkins. I’m not sure if Mom wanted to avoid the mess or, since she worked as a nurse, maybe wanted to steer clear of knives, but we only ever painted our pumpkins.”

Victor chuckled in his quiet way, eyes crinkling as he grinned. “Oh, why does that sound just like Mama Rhodes?”

I shrugged. “Now, here I am, nearly thirty, and a first-time pumpkin carver.”

“Well, you know my mom. She handed me a knife to carve when I was, like, two. She was too busy chasing my siblings. I’m an old pro.” He stood up from his seat.

I imagined Victor with his five siblings, as one of the youngest, wielding a knife as a toddler.

“Victor, please tell me you’re kidding. I love your mom, but—” I realized he’d pulled up a stool behind me. “Why are you over here?”

He scooted his stool right up against me, sliding his arms around me to grab the knife, then set it in my hand and kept his hand on top of mine. “I want to show you my perfect carving technique,” he said so close to my ear.

Goose bumps trailed down my arms, my shoulders.

“Want me to move?” He turned his head a little, his breath hitting right below my ear.

I shook my head. I preferred trying things for the first time on my own. I’d never been a fan of hands-on teaching. Group projects irritated me. Give me thick books to read over an interactive lesson.

But Victor always had a way around my defenses. With him, I never felt prickly about his help. He was my hands-on exception.

I leaned against his chest, feeling his warmth and breathing in that familiar mix of sawdust and that musky cologne.

“See, the key is to cut the top out at an angle,” Victor said, his words a rumble against my back, as we pushed the knife into the soft pumpkin, cutting a circle at the top around the stem. “So, the top doesn’t drop when we set it back on.”

I hummed in agreement.

“Now here’s the messy part,” he warned.

I turned my head to him, my eyelashes against his rough jawline. “What’s the messy part?”

He leaned forward, guiding my hands into the pumpkin. “We’ve got to clean the pumpkin out, so our candle has somewhere to go.”

Together, we scooped up a handful of soggy pumpkin seeds.

A giggle escaped me. “I appreciate how you’re walking me through this experience.”

We wiped our hands off with a paper towel, then got back to work. Now, it was time to carve.

Victor’s eyes narrowed, serious as we sliced into my little Sharpie drawings. “First, we make the rough, big cuts,” he said, warm against my ear. “We can come back and clean the edges later.”

His chest was solid behind me—strong from carving things from lumber and wielding hammers—but I couldn’t take my eyes off how he took our silly jack o’lantern just as seriously as his carpentry work.

Victor was playful and easygoing, but he had the things he handled with precision and a humble intensity—the things he took seriously. Like the things he made with his hands.

I’d seen that intent focus before, how he’d mindlessly lick his lips and narrow his eyes as he sanded down a plank of wood or wrapped a present for his brother’s birthday, smoothing down the tape with the same focus he gave his sliding saw.

If it was under his care—be it carving a jack o’lantern or fortifying a wall—he did it with his whole heart.

His chin brushed against my forehead as he moved. “Here we go,” he murmured, guiding our hands together to angle the cut.

I wasn’t watching our hands. I was watching him—how he bit his lip in concentration. Why did Victor’s lips have such an effect on my stomach?

I felt eyes on me. I glanced across the tables to find Gabby. She sat across the table, surrounded by students and some very messy pumpkins. She arched an eyebrow like she knew exactly what I was thinking.

Last time she’d seen me, I was wearing his jacket. Now here I was, enveloped in his arms and gazing at his mouth.

Victor didn’t notice. He announced we were done, pulling his hands from mine. I felt like I was being jolted awake from a sleepy stupor—a Victor stupor.

I blinked a few times at our pumpkin vampire. It was truly perfect.

“Victor, wow.” I picked it up to inspect it. “It’s adorable.” Each shape was cut precisely. My silly drawings came through adorably. The eyebrows were adorable. I spun it around to show Gabby across the way, who was still guffawing at us.

“Not fair. He’s a literal carpenter,” she said, shaking her head.

“It’s not a contest,” Victor said with the cocky grin of a winner.