Page 7 of The Shift Between Us (Covewood #2)

Her green eyes sparkle as she asks, “Did you at least find the drugs?”

“There were none. We're currently investigating who left the tip.”

Her lips quirk into a smile that makes the lingering tension of seeing her upset earlier dissolve like mist. Although, I haven’t forgotten the tidbit I heard today and decide it’s my turn to poke fun at her. “Since when did you and Zane start dating? Or is it Ashton?”

Her smile falters, and I quickly regret my choice of words. “You know better than to believe the town’s gossip. ”

She turns away from me and opens up a drawer to grab a plastic bag.

She makes her way toward her freezer, her strides quick and uneven, hands clenched at her sides, like she’s holding back more than just words.

A protective force overcomes me, knowing that something is bothering her.

She fills the bag with ice and hands it to me.

“Here. For your leg.”

“Thanks.” I take the bag in one hand and grab hers with my other. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” she says, letting go of my hand so she can move the bowl of dough into the fridge. She grabs another bowl and two bottles of water before shutting the door. “I will say this: I’m never trusting Edna to set me up on a date ever again.”

Remembering what Edna confessed to me only moments before, I reply, “I wouldn’t blame you.”

Her lips twitch, like they’re reaching for a smile but can’t quite get there. Her shoulders slump, and that familiar spark in her eyes is nowhere to be found. Worry clings to her face, dimming the light she usually carries. I hate that I can see it fading.

I take a step toward her and place a hand on her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. She looks up at me, her eyes wide and welcoming.

“Whatever is worrying you right now, forget about it. I’m here for you, always.”

Her shoulders relax with my words, and she takes a deep breath in through her nose and out through her full, pink lips. As I stare at them, a zing of desire runs through me, and I have to fight with myself to look away.

“Thanks,” she whispers. “For being here.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” I confess, giving her a grin.

I take off my uniform jacket, revealing a plain white T-shirt underneath that's not very white anymore thanks to the dirt I landed in earlier. I lay my jacket and keys on the table by her front door and limp my way over to the couch, which, thanks to my leg, takes me longer than usual.

Who knew twisting your knee cap the wrong way could be so painful? I press the ice bag onto my leg as Olivia places some snacks onto the coffee table. She reaches for a bowl, and the scent of citrus finds its way to my nose, like a slice of my favorite lemon cake of hers.

You’d think that, after all these years, I’d have a better handle on my feelings. But as I notice the sadness weighing on her shoulders, all I want to do is reach out and comfort her.

I ball my fists together, allowing my fingernails to dig into the palms of my hands as a reminder to stay grounded.

We don’t talk for a moment, both of us lost in thought.

Some hearts understand each other even in silence.

It’s always been that way between us. We could have a whole conversation without speaking a word.

Olivia usually never goes long without speaking, and if she’s quiet, it usually means something is really bothering her. I nudge her with my good knee, and she shakes her head, breaking her trance-like state.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I can tell that whatever happened this evening is bothering you more than you’re letting on. Do I need to arrest this guy?”

She chuckles, but there’s no humor behind the sound.

As Olivia turns toward me, she fills me in on every detail of the date.

When she’s finished, she lets out a loud exhale and leans back into her couch.

Her eyes are locked on a random spot in front of us as whatever is bothering her swirls inside her mind.

I nudge her again and ask, “You’ve been on bad dates before. Why do you look so defeated after this one?”

“Besides the fact that he ate my dessert? That’s reason enough for you to arrest him.” One corner of her mouth lifts, the faintest dimple popping in her cheek.

“I agree. Dessert is sacred.” I smirk, and at the same time, hers falls .

“I had that same thought.” She studies me for a moment, her gaze traveling over my face, and I wonder if we’re close enough where she can feel the heat radiating off my skin. “You know me better than anyone—well, besides my family and Raine, of course.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her posture says everything before she even speaks.

“But even they don’t understand me like you do,” she adds, the sadness spreading to her voice.

She’s staring down at her hands, and it’s in the quiet moments, when her shoulders dip softly and she has a faraway look in her eyes, that I let my guard down and admire her.

Olivia looks like all the seasons in this moment.

She’s wearing a bluish-green sweater that reminds me of the lake in the summer.

Her pale skin is tinged red, reminding me of winter berries.

Her red-orange hair looks like the leaves during autumn.

Her lips, full and pink, are like blossoming flowers in the spring.

Her eyes drift over to me. They’re a mixture of bright green and gold, her irises like the morning sun sending fragments of light through the trees as it rises.

Olivia looks like a dream—one that I never want to wake up from.

But the only time that I can reach out and touch her like I crave can only be found when I’m sleeping.

“Is there something wrong with me?” she whispers as her face falls in defeat.

“What?” I ask, my fists clenching together. The mere idea of Olivia believing that something is wrong with her fills me with hot rage.

“There has to be something wrong with me. I’m twenty-nine years old, and every relationship I’ve had has failed. Do you know how many first dates I’ve been on in my life?”

I don’t really want to know the answer, but I ask anyway, “How many? ”

“Thirty-six. And do you know how many of those led to a second date?”

I do know the answer to this, but instead, I press my lips together and stay quiet.

Everyone seems to fight some sort of silent battle against not being good enough, not having enough, or not belonging enough.

I understand, to a certain extent, where Olivia is coming from, but what I don’t understand is why it’s bothering her.

She’s always confident, taking on life with the force of a cyclone.

Anytime I get to witness her in her element, it’s a reminder of how she’s an unstoppable force of nature.

It’s unlike her to let something, like a bad date, get her down.

There’s something more happening here, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Or maybe I don’t know her like she thinks I do.

“Five. Out of those five, I’ve managed to date two of them long term, and by long term I mean making it almost two years before something happened to break us up. I think that something is me. Maybe I’m too much. Too loud, too energetic, too?—”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You’re perfect just the way you are. And the right man will see that one day.”

What I don’t say is that they’ll see her the way I do. That she’s worth the chaos she brings. That it’s a blessing to be in the same proximity as her and to witness the light that she constantly shines. That she’s anything but “too much” because I can never get enough of her.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend.”

“Olivia, listen to me.” I shift to face her. I take her hands into mine, fighting against the lick of fire growing in my gut. “You’re worthy of being pursued, of being respected, of true love. So quit blaming yourself when you’re not the problem.”

Her grin is hypnotic, numbing my senses, and contagious enough to make the corners of my mouth lift. “Thank you for always putting me in my place. You’re the best friend I could ever ask for.” She gives my hands a squeeze before releasing them to grab a spoon from the coffee table.

I swallow, the sound vibrating between us, as I try not to reveal how the term ‘best friend’ always twists my stomach. I hear it every day from her as a reminder of where my place is in her life. No matter what I do, that reminder stings. A dull pain I’ve learned to live with.

“Cookie dough?” she offers.

“Spoon me.” I open my mouth and welcome the sweet taste of dough and sugar. “Sugar cookie?” I mumble through a mouthful, turning my attention toward the remote and not on how her spoonful touches her pink lips.

“Mm-hmm,” she replies. After she swallows and gets a drink of water, she adds, “I’m going to make different types of botanical cookies tomorrow.”

Her eyes brighten, like Christmas lights, twinkling and glittering toward me. Olivia is always radiant when she mentions something she’s passionate about. She turns into pure sunshine, and her reactions are much better than anything we could be watching on television.

“What flavors are you making?” I ask, wanting to keep this version of her for as long as I can.

She squeals with excitement as she grabs her phone and pulls up her notes.

“Okay, what do you think about these? Orange zest and violas. Fresh fennel—they look like little trees—and powdered sugar, which looks like snow. I know, it’s adorable.

Marshmallow and candy cane, which isn’t botanical, but come on, I'm going for Christmas themes. How do those sound?”

“I think it sounds like I’d be happy to be a taste tester for these cookies,” I say, and she beams at me. “Wanna play some Mario Kart?” I ask, desperately in need of a distraction because my mind keeps lingering on the shape of her lips and imagining how sweet they might taste .

“The more important question is, are you ready to cry when I beat you, or are you going to take it like a champ?”

My brows pull together with the challenge as I grin. “First of all, I’m going to do both. Secondly, quit hogging the dough.”

This feels right. I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve spent on this couch with Olivia—sharing blankets, trading bad jokes, half-watching movies while we compete at whatever game she’s obsessed with that week.

Every awkward date, every near-miss with someone else, has led back to this: us .

And with the way she’s looking at me now, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe she feels it too.