Page 75 of Love in Fine Print

“Mmm, this is so good.”Olivia moaned as she took another bite.

I did my best not to stare at her while she ate because when I did, my pants grew too tight. The problem, I was finding, was not just that I could see her perfect, suckable nipples through the thin material of her shirt. Her appreciation-of-the-food expressions and sounds were very similar to the faces and noises that she made when she was experiencing pleasure that was carnal, not culinary in nature.

My head, the one above my shoulders knew the difference, the one below my belt did not. He was ready for round two. He had been for the past month. Every night was like a marathon of tossing and turning since she’d moved in.

Having her so close, yet so far, was fucking torture.

I still couldn’t believe I’d talked to her about my dad. I didn’t talk to anyone about him. Not Declan, not Coach Graham, and not Jake. They all knew our relationship was strained, of course, but I never told them that it still affected me. I wasn’t exactly sure why I’d told Olivia.

Actually, yes, I was. I’d seen her walls go back up after I’d mentioned her mom, and I didn’t want them to. In that moment, I knew I’d do anything to make sure those suckers stayed down.

And I had.

“So, how was your day?” I asked.

While we ate, she told me about a case she had and two referral clients that she’d met with. She talked a little bit about Ken Loomis, who was trying to poach one of her high-profile clients. He’d taken him out to dinner and a strip club, apparently.

I’d briefly met the people she worked with at the wedding, and I wasn’t sure how she spent her time with those people. Trevor was great, and one guy, Machado, seemed like a good guy, but other than that, they all seemed to be a lot more impressed with themselves than they should be.

“What about you? How were things in the world of matchmaking?” Olivia asked as we rinsed off our dishes and put them in the dishwasher.

“I got an email from Holly this morning.” I’d almost texted her about it but I’d decided I wanted to see her face when she heard the news.

Olivia’s face lit up in a way I never saw it do when she talked about her work but always did when she was working on making matches. Holly was the first match she’d ever made. I’d wanted to set her up with a guy named Trent, who I thought she’d be well suited with. They both worked in the medical field and had similar interests and family backgrounds. Olivia hadn’t been sold. She’d said she had a feeling about Marcel, who worked as an auto mechanic specializing in restoring old cars.

It turned out she’d been right.

“How is she doing? How’s Marcel?”

“She was just letting me know she wouldn’t need our services anymore because last night Holly and Marcel officially became a couple.”

She clapped her hands together. “They did?!”

“Yep. She sent pics.”

I pulled up the email and showed her the pics that were attached to it. He’d taken her out on a Hornblower dinner cruise around the bay, which had been what they’d done for their first date. There was a photo of a nervous Marcel holding a white plate with “Would you be my girlfriend?” written in chocolate. Two boxes were next to the question, one for yes and one for no. The last photo showed Holly checking the yes box as Marcel looked on beaming.

“That’s so sweet.” I noticed tears pooled in Olivia’s eyes as her phone vibrated on the table.

I was concerned that it was her mom again. But when I saw her lips curl in a small smile, I knew it wasn’t. I doubted it was work-related since I rarely saw her grin like that when anyone from the office messaged her.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s from Liza.”

“The photographer?” Our entire wedding had been a whirlwind, but I was pretty sure the blonde with bright blue tips who had followed us around with a camera had introduced herself as Liza.

Olivia nodded.

“It’s a link to our photos.”

“Oh, let’s put them up on the big screen.”

The first thing I’d changed in my grandmother’s hundred-year-old house was the addition of a 98” flat-screen television.

Olivia glanced up at me, her face unreadable. “Really?” she asked, questioning my suggestion. “You want to see them?”

“Don’tyouwant to see them?” I asked.

---