Page 18 of Olivia’s Only Pretending (Sweet River #3)
Thirteen
S ometimes, like when we were talking with my work friends, Victor’s arms slipped around my waist. He’d rest his wrist on my hip, like my body was his own personal comfort spot. I’d lean into him when he told a joke, in a way I usually stopped myself from doing.
This charade felt less like pretending and more like surrendering. Some mental and physical muscles I’d been controlling around Victor suddenly released, a part of me I hadn’t realized was waiting to let go.
The closeness felt like a hit of caffeine straight into my bloodstream. I was giggly, and I wanted more.
“Hey, Katie told me she had a Coffees and Commas cart set up on campus,” Victor said as we strolled by a couple of students clinking cans of apple cider. “Want to go find her?”
“Of course,” I said. My tongue was salty and sweet from the caramel popcorn we’d just shared.
The sun was getting lower in the cloudy sky. The Texas heat was cooling. We weaved through the center of campus where the festival took place to find a metal and wood coffee stand with a big Coffees and Commas sign.
Katie poked her head out of the window. Her brown messy bun was lopsided on her head. “Victor, Olivia! Hi!”
I set both my hands on the bar opening of the window. “I love this traveling coffee shop. You’ve got the coffee. Now you just need the books. Victor should build you a bookshelf to set up with it to really complete the picture.”
“I’d have to be a redhead with the name Olivia to get Victor to start building me things off the cuff.” Katie leaned on her elbows, with her chin resting on her hands.
“Hey now, who built most of the new shelves in Coffee and Commas?” Victor defended himself with a hand on his chest.
“Well, I know I’m not the highest priority sibling at the moment—what with Gabe and Emma basically booking you up for their wedding,” Katie said. “Did he tell you, Liv?”
I shook my head.
“They just asked,” Victor said. “I’m building them a wedding arbor. We’re going to cover it in vines and flowers, maybe even throw a canopy over it. I’ve been working on the design,” Victor said, his voice rising in excitement. He was beaming. “I can’t believe they asked me .”
“Of course they asked you.” I placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s going to be beautiful.”
“There’s no one else they would’ve asked, but you,” Katie said before looking over at me. “You’re coming to the wedding, right, Liv?”
I had the invitation hanging on my fridge. “Yeah, for sure.”
“Are you coming to the other wedding things with Victor, too? The rehearsal dinner? I think you get a date,” Katie said, tapping the coffee bar.
She might’ve meant it innocently and intended I’d be tagging along as Victor’s pal, but my cheeks still went pink.
She smirked while Victor scratched his head. “I haven’t thought much about who I’d be taking.”
I felt the pink spread to my shoulders. “Maybe I’ll go? We haven’t discussed it?” I said, my voice high.
“Honestly, I think we’ve all assumed you’d be at everything,” Katie said with her back turned as she started up the espresso machine behind her. “You two are a package deal lately.”
“Well, I’d be honored to be at any of the wedding celebrations,” I said, my eyes on Victor.
His eyes softened on me.
“I love Emma and Gabe.”
“Really? You’d be my date?” Victor said. His voice was a lull under the sound of whirring latte foam.
“Get her the details,” Katie said, setting two lattes in front of us. She pushed a cup toward me. “A chai with pumpkin seasoning on top.” Then she handed one to Victor. “Maple latte.”
A couple of professors stepped in line behind us, so we quickly thanked Katie while we grabbed our drinks and left.
T he festival was dwindling. Students had mostly left and gone on with their evening classes or off to the cafeteria for dinner.
But I didn’t want this bubble where Victor and I held hands or linked arms, where we wandered around in the gray, where I knew I’d go home with his scent on my clothes, to burst.
“Hey, we haven’t done the pie walk!” I said, sounding like I was straight out of a holiday movie.
“Oh yeah.” Victor nodded. “Lead the way.”
We made it over to the pie walk area. They were folding up the chairs and knocking down the table. I felt my heart sink.
“Oh, we missed it,” Victor said, pulling me to his side in a consolatory hug. “Want to go find pie somewhere else?”
“You guys want some pie?” a woman with tight gray curls, who’d eyed us as we walked up, said from her spot, wrapping up a tablecloth. “We have two slices of pecan pie left.”
Victor tilted his head in question.
“We’ll take ’em!” I said.
W e walked over to my favorite tree, nestled under the shade, and dug our forks into our slices of pie.
“I feel like pecan pie is so underrated. It tastes so autumnal,” I said around a mouthful of gooey, nutty goodness.
Victor nodded, with a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Mom used to always have us go outside and pick up a bag of pecans and then shell them every fall so she could make a pecan pie for Thanksgiving.” His tone was warm, nostalgic.
The golden hour glow made everything feel softer around the edges. The evening stretched before us.
I shifted slightly, turning my head toward him. “Hey, I wanted to ask—” But before I could finish my sentence, my paper plate wobbled where it rested on my knee before flipping over.
We both stared at it lying dramatically face down on the grass.
My mouth hung open. Victor’s eyes were wide.
“My pie,” I gasped.
“Your pie!” he shouted in shock, slapping a palm over his mouth. “Liv, I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head, a laugh deep in my chest bubbling up. “My poor pie.”
He held out his plate. “Take mine.”
“I’m not stealing your slice,” I said with an arched brow. But then, with a grin, I grabbed his fork, scooping a big bite. “But I will share it.”
We passed the fork back and forth, sitting shoulder to shoulder under the shade of the tree. This closeness felt so easy. The sun was almost completely set, leaving the sky purple and pink and the October air crisp.
“What were you saying before you lost your pie?” Victor asked as I chewed a bite.
“Oh …” I handed him the fork. “I was going to ask you how your business plans are going. You were supposed to show them to me. You know, the arch at the wedding and the shelves at Coffees and Commas would be great in your portfolio.” The oak shelves at Coffees and Commas, with their intricate ivy detailing along the edges, were stunning.
Almost every time I waited in line for coffee, someone pointed them out and commented on how beautiful and unique they were.
Victor swallowed his bite. “I know. I’ve been planning to show them to you, but then I keep putting it off. I mean, you’re the only person I can imagine showing right now, but also … I really don’t want you to look them over and then laugh at me.”
“Victor Hernandez, do you really think I would ever laugh at you?” I leaned across him, my arm brushing across his denimed knee, and grabbed the fork. I peered up at him through my auburn hair, dangling in my eyes.
He narrowed his eyes. “You laugh at me daily.”
“Maybe. But I’d never laugh at someone making the brave choice, taking a chance on themselves. There’s nothing funny about that.” I kept my arm against his leg, and my body leaned toward him.
His eyes were hooked on mine.
“I can’t wait for you to get this business started—to see your work popping up all over Sweet River.”
He put his hand on my wrist where it rested on his knee. “You don’t think …” He took a beat. “You don’t think there’s a chance people will think that I’m delusional and my pieces are not really as great as I think they are—or hope they are?”
I shook my head vehemently. “Not a single chance.”
He gave my wrist a squeeze before removing his hand.
I scooped up the fork, and his eyes followed it to my lips. My stomach dipped.
“Well, I’m finishing up the plans, and then they’ll be in your inbox. That way, you can force me to actually take the steps.” He leaned his head against the tree.
“I’m good at the whole pushing people thing. I’m a Rhodes woman, after all.” I set the fork back down on the plate. “And hey, I better remain your priority customer, even after you get popular.”
“Well, I don’t know how good you’ll be for my business. Most of the stuff I do for you, I’ve done for free or discounted just cause you’re really cute.”
I fought back a grin. “Victor.” I gave him a playful shove. “I try to pay you, and you refuse! I don’t want to hurt your business.”
Victor would’ve been worth every penny, because Victor’s work was really good. But there were other factors in why I kept wanting more and more Victor creations. More than I could ever afford.
Partially, it was because I just wanted more and more Victor .
I wanted him in my kitchen or my backyard when I got home from work.
I wanted to look at my kitchen table and think of him, his hands, and his heart.
I loved that when I walked across my back porch in the mornings barefoot, I saw the wood he picked out and sanded down. I could still hear the old rock he blared as he worked, singing along, and feel his hands on mine as he taught me proper sanding technique while we built it.
Everything he built me carried that instant peace I felt in his presence, like he was my own personal remedy.
It was the Victor in all of it that I loved.
“Want the last bite?” Victor asked, waking me from my thoughts.
I reached for the fork, and he snatched it away, holding it up over us out of reach.
“Not so fast, Freckles!”
“Hey.” I twisted around him to grab the fork. We started wrestling over the fork, breathless and laughing. His warm body was against mine again, still sending my heart racing, when the plate fell off his lap.
Our last bite was in the grass.
“You have some kind of pie curse,” Victor said from our place, all twisted up, both with a grip on the fork.
“That time was definitely your fault,” I argued.
I let go of the fork, opting instead to rest my head on his shoulder. The sun was completely set, and the lamp posts around campus flickered on.
I had papers to grade, syllabi to work on, a lecture to write, and dishes in my sink, but I just kept trying for more time here with Victor.