Olivia Graham was twenty-two when she started a whirlwind romance with charismatic Jakob overseas.
By age twenty-five, Liv was back home and checking off the widowed box on paperwork. With zero plans, Olivia and beloved dog Snuggles find themselves...
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"I'll head out in just a minute," I say, getting my keys from Will. "I just wanna see if she wants me to set up that security system this week."
"I don't know, she's pretty closed off, you might wanna wait," Will warns.
"Okay, well, maybe I will," I agree, waving as they head out the door.
"Liv?" I tap gently on the closed door, hearing no response. Frowning, I head back down the hall to leave; I stop when I hear Olivia weeping in her room. Nobody else is here, just me, and I can't walk away. "Livvie, baby, let me come in, please."
When she doesn't answer, I push my way in, following her sounds. Snuggles is lying on the bed and lets out a whine as I come in.
I spin, finding Olivia lying in the fetal position on the floor of her closet. "Oh, honey." I place her head on my lap and stroke her hair, and just let her cry, "Poor Liv."
After a minute, her tears subside significantly, and she rests on her heels as if she just now realizes I'm there. "You knew!" She accuses me, standing up and backing away.
"What do you mean?" I prod gently, "Knew what?"
"Will said you told him! How did you know? You knew that Jake was seeing other women."
"Baby, what was I going to do?" I plead, standing up and reaching for her.
"Wake you up on the way home from his funeral to tell you? When everybody was on their way here?" I ask, my voice thick. She backs away deliberately, and my heart sinks. "I don't want to hurt you," I promise, "I just wanted to safeguard you today."
"Just go," she says sadly, covering her face with her hands.
"No."
"Chris, just—"
"Olivia," I say her name in a hoarse voice as I walk up to her, drinking her in.
I want her so much. I know, I know it's wrong to be thinking about that right now, but our emotions are so high, and I want to slam my lips on to hers.
She's practically naked, and her hair is long, loose, and a little wild. My fingers itch to bury themselves in it as I kiss down her jaw. But the way she looks at me right now, vulnerable and worn out, all I can do is wrap my arms around her body and kiss her forehead, murmuring, "Why don't you sleep?"
She wraps her arms around my waist, her palms on my back, and my breathing becomes ragged as I feel her nuzzle her face into the crook of my neck. "I need a shower," she protests, "And the dog needs to go out, and —"
