Page 24 of Time To Live Again

“Yep,” she crows. “I’m moving in tomorrow. Too bad your reservation system didn’t make a worse mistake. Don’t get me wrong. I love the suite, but this is incredible.”

The cottage has an open concept. The kitchen and living room run along the right wall. There’s enough space for a kitchen table for two, a couch, and a coffee table. Stairs near the spacious bathroom lead to a cozy loft where the bedroom is. It’s compact and airy; perfect for a getaway. I have all I need.

Olive’s coat slips from her shoulders and I take it from her, then hang it on a hook near the door. She’s wearing a fitted, white button-down shirt that fans out at the bottom over her blue jeans. The top three buttons are unfastened, giving me a glimpse of her full chest. With her hair twisted in a low bun on the side, her exposed neck makes me ache for one more trace of her silky skin. Her jeans hug her curvy hips and ass as if they were custom-made for her. To explore a woman’s generous curves is incredibly beautiful and the ultimate turn-on for me.

My eyes trail her every move until I’m rudely interrupted by Tonya clearing her throat. I glance at her, and she gives me a knowing nod. I scratch my forehead with my middle finger, and she laughs. Olive inspects the small kitchen area, tracing the black countertop with her fingertips. Next, she heads into the living room and sits on the couch like she belongs here. She perks up and points at the opposite wall. “And you have a fireplace. I’m so jealous. I didn’t need one when I lived in LA, and the apartment I live in now doesn’t have one.” Interesting piece of information. Several guests at the party are from LA.

I wait for Tonya to ask her a million questions about living there, but she doesn’t. I look behind me, and I’m not surprised to see her putting away the plate and glass that were sitting out to dry. She’s such a neat freak. You can eat off her counters and floors.

Once Olive finishes checking out the upstairs, which doesn’t take long because the house is small, I usher them into the bathroom. I’m glad it’s big enough for three.

I clap my hands. “Let’s get this show on the road. The party’s going to be over before we get back.”

“And look at this bathroom,” Olive says with delight when she enters. “The bathtub and shower are huge. How many people are supposed to use that shower at a time?” I’d tell her what I’d like to do with her in there, but I’m sure that’d win me a left hook to the face. Still, I can fantasize, right?

I put my shaving items and washcloth near the sink before I left. Tonya’s already rearranging and polishing my toiletries, lining them up from tallest to shortest. I don’t bother commenting anymore. If it makes her happy, why say anything?

“Need a hand?” Olive asks. “I kinda feel useless.”

“Have you ever shaved off a mustache? Did another fake boyfriend have one too?”

She swats my shoulder playfully. “Whatever. Actually, I do have some experience. I used to help my dad. He couldn’t decide. At random times during the year, he’d grow one. Mom hated it with a passion.” She says it as if it were in the past. Did her father die, or did her parents divorce?

“Go for it then.” I point to the things on the counter. “Are these what you need?”

She scrutinizes them. “Yep. We’re good to go.”

I could do it myself, but this might be the last time she puts her hands on me. I take my phone out of my pocket. “Let me get a before picture first.”

“Wait, I want to be in it,” Tonya exclaims, finished with her military lineup of toiletries.

She presses into my side, making kissy lips. I pull Olive into the picture. She hesitates, then gives in. I take a couple pics, then turn off the screen.

“Let me see them,” Tonya whines, yanking on my arm.

“Nope. Later.” I tap on my watch.

“How should we do this? You’re much taller than me,” Olive inquires. Without responding, I pick her up and sit her on the counter. She squeals. “I’m too heavy to sit here.” She shimmies to get off. I hold her in place and put my hands on the counter, barricading her in.

“You are not.” Face-to-face, we stare at each other, hardly blinking. We’re close enough that I could easily steal a kiss from her, but I refrain like a gentleman. Her chest rises and falls at a faster pace as her eyes drop to my lips. Is this having the same enticing effect on her as it is on me? She swallows, then looks away.

I grab the used towel hanging to dry and place it over my shoulders. Then I push the loose strands of hair out of my face.

Olive takes my chin between her fingers and asks, “Are you sure? I’m a little rusty. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“No bleeding allowed. And you can’t use these white towels,” Tonya orders. I look over, and she’s refolding the freshly folded towels on the shelf. Whatever floats her boat.

“That’s what bleach is for,” I counter. I look at Olive. “Ignore Tonya. She’s like Monica on the TV show,Friends. Constantly organizing and cleaning.” I hide behind my hand and whisper, “She irons her towels and sheets. Probably her underwear too.”

“I heard that,” Tonya says over her shoulder.

Olive’s lips quirk with amusement. “Ah. One ofthosepeople, huh?”

“Heard that too,” Tonya says, cracking a smile this time.

“Want to come and organize my apartment?” Olive asks.

While Tonya babbles about turning it into a job, I fill the sink with hot water and wait until their chatter dies down.

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