Page 32 of Olivia’s Only Pretending (Sweet River #3)

“You know, I said I wanted to go on a date, not to another Hernandez family dinner,” I joked. We might be on a real date, but we were also us. It could never stay serious very long.

“Oh, my bad. Mom’s fired up the grill out back.” Victor winked.

I winced. “I don’t need her judging my guacamole-making skills again.” Last time I joined for a family dinner, I’d offered to help in the kitchen.

I’d started making the guacamole and asked if they had any mayonnaise. The whole kitchen skidded to a stop.

“Did you just say … mayonnaise?” Linda said, drawing out each syllable of mayonnaise.

I’d glanced toward Victor for help, and he’d slapped a hand to his forehead, shaking his head.

“My mom always adds a few scoops,” I said.

“A few scoops?” Katie gasped.

“Honey, let’s just keep you on dish duty,” Linda said, scooting me away from the bowl of mashed avocado and toward the sink.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Liv. My mom will probably never let you touch another avocado in her presence again, anyway. So, there won’t even be the opportunity.”

“Hey, I’ve seen you eat nearly a whole bowl of my guacamole before,” I defended our Rhodes recipe.

“I eat, and love, whatever my girlfriend makes me,” Victor said, his voice warm, eager, trying out the word. “Pretend or not.”

I cocked my head to the side, watching him, letting myself really take him in as we barreled past his family’s house down the country road. His tan, caramel skin. His deep, chocolate eyes. How his jaw ticked when he was focusing, like he was now, turning the car onto the rocky property trail.

I leaned into him. Our arms brushed. “Where’re you taking me?”

He smiled. “You’ll see.”

I tugged on his shirt, finding any excuse to make contact. “You’ve got some tricks up your sleeve today.”

He took his hand off the wheel and set it gently on the top of my thigh. His eyes were on me for a heated second. His eyes were serious, wanting. His fingers were warm through my jeans. My stomach fluttered as he rubbed a circle above my knee with his thumb.

A new kind of cozy silence fell between us as we made our way down the grassy fields.

He put the truck in park right by a bubbling, winding stream shaded by elm trees. There was a grassy clearing a few steps away. “This is my reading spot.”

Victor collected an old quilt from the back of his truck and the basket he’d set our grocery haul in. A perfect picnic.

It was quiet out in the middle of the country, except for the fall breeze rippling through the swaying trees and the creek rushing. The sun streaked with hazy pinks and purples as evening came.

Victor reached his hand out for mine. Just us. No students or faculty eyes watching. Only his eyes on mine. Is this a thing we can do now? I slipped my hand into his. His fingers were calloused from years of woodworking, rough against my skin.

He led me toward a grassy spot beside the creek. We laid out the blanket, laughing as we tried to smooth it out for our picnic.

“Usually, it’s just me here, and often, I don’t even bring a blanket,” Victor said. “But I’ve got to bring the nice blanket for my real date, you know.”

We broke into the food, buttery brie cheese and soft sourdough bread, and we passed the bottle of red between the two of us. We watched the sun’s setting rays glimmer through the trees, changing leaves.

“Try these,” Victor said, handing me a cluster of grapes. “These are my favorite kind. Champagne grapes.”

I popped a tiny, blue-black grape in my mouth. A burst of sweetness. “You really haven’t ever brought anyone else out here?”

He shook his head. “This spot feels like my secret. I grew up with a billion siblings?—”

“Five,” I interjected.

“Which can feel like a billion. We’ve got a big house, but not that big.

I still shared a room. I was always looking for a place to call my own.

Sometimes, woodworking has felt like a place I can hide in, not just a thing I do.

” He took a swig of the wine, then gestured out to the creek with the bottle in his grip.

“And here. I was a teenager, pissed off about something. When I got like that, I’d blast Dashboard Confessional in my truck and just drive the backroads.

I parked out here that day. It was quiet. ”

“I’m honored you brought me here.” I crawled closer to him, grabbed the bottle from his hands, and took a swig. “Everyone needs a place they can go.”

“You’re one of my places.” His face was soft, open.

“Me?”

“Since I met you, I don’t have to be anything but me when I’m with you,” he said, grabbing at a loose thread on the blanket. “And I feel like … like you don’t want it any other way than that.”

“Well, you’re right about that. You can always be you with me.” Victor, with his guard down, was my favorite place, too. Still sweet, still funny and goofy, but tender and vulnerable and rough underneath in the best way.

“Just me?”

“That’s all I want—just Victor.”

“You want me?” His voice was quiet, but strong, like a pulse.

The sun was gone now. Starlight twinkled overhead, and Victor’s eyes glowed in the dark.

“Well, I’m always inviting you over, aren’t I?” A breathless, vulnerable laugh escaped me.

Somehow, along the way, Victor became a coping mechanism, his arms a restorative place, his voice a healing balm, his presence a need.

Was it always like this, and I was only now seeing it? Or was it a development over months of caring friendship? “You’re a favorite place to me, too. A safe zone.”

“You’re my safe zone, too,” he said.

“I’m better with you next to me, you know that?” I admitted, my head tilting to the side, a piece of hair falling in my eyes.

His eyes crinkled. “Every Olivia is the best Olivia.” He looked down at his hands, the grape in his fingers. “I’d probably obsess over any version of you.”

The feeling was achingly mutual, but I was still trying to tread carefully, walking the shoreline between us, with my dress hiked up, careful of the waves even as the tide came rolling in.

“You know what’s funny?” I said. “How my mom picked you out for Lucy. What if you two had worked out?”

He grimaced at the memory of our mothers setting him up on a blind date over the summer with my sister, Lucy.

I laughed at what a failure that date had been.

“What’s hilarious is how excited I was for that date.

I knew I thought one of those Rhodes sisters was hot—the tiny sexy librarian one with her dark red hair. ”

My whole body flushed.

“And those freckles.” He said the last the word like he was gasping. “And instead, Lucy sat down across from me. Lucy’s awesome, but … she’s not you.”

“But, what if?” I pressed. “What if the date went so well and she made you forget all about me?”

He shook his head. “Nothing will ever get you out of my head.”

I rubbed my arms. The temperature was dropping.

Victor tracked the movement, asking, “Are you cold?”

“A little,” I admitted.

He shrugged off his jacket. Then, scooting closer to me, he wrapped it around my shoulders. It was heavy, leather, and smelled like sawdust and him. I slipped my arms in, tugging it closer like a blanket on a cold night.

His arm brushed against mine, setting off a ricochet in my heart. I slipped my fingers into his. I caught his eye, the corner of his mouth curving into a side grin. My mouth tasted like red wine. My chest felt warm, all aglow.

“Your mouth is dark purple.” Victor chuckled. “Looks like you had a popsicle.”

I touched my mouth. “It was the wine.”

He reached over and brushed my lips with his fingertips. “I feel like you do things like this on purpose to drive me crazy.”

I looked up at him, his fingers still on my mouth. “No kissing, remember?” My chest was heaving, every breath heavy.

He nodded, silently. Our eyes locked, memories of the two of us meeting like magnets, hot on my skin. I swallowed.

“Let’s get you home, then?” Victor offered.