Page 13 of Big Built Boss

I knock on her door, then stand there for a moment, waiting. My fingers twitch a little, wanting to pull my phone out and check the time again, but I don’t. I breathe in, reminding myself to calm down. I’ve got this. I’ve had more difficult situations—this is just dinner with Olivia, someone I’ve known for a few weeks now. Nothing I haven’t handled before.

The door opens, and there she is.

Olivia looks...incredible. The simple black dress she’s wearing hugs her curves just right, accentuating the soft curve of herwaist, the elegant slope of her neck. She’s wearing minimal makeup—just enough to highlight those damn green eyes—and her brown hair is loose around her shoulders, catching the dim light in a way that makes my pulse race. She looks so damn good, I have to take a second to remember how to speak.

“Wow,” I say, blinking. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks,” she says, smiling. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

I chuckle, feeling an immediate wave of relief. She’s nervous, too. I can tell by the way she’s biting her lip, the little fidgeting movements she makes when she stands a little too still. But her smile is easy, and I can see she’s trying to hide her own excitement behind it. I know what she’s feeling. I’m feeling the same way.

We step out onto the porch, and I offer her my arm, the same easy confidence I always show when I’m around her. She hesitates for only a second before slipping her arm through mine, and the contact is electric.

“Shall we?” I ask.

“Lead the way, Mr. Barrett.” She teases, using my last name, her tone light. It’s playful and comfortable—like we’ve done this a hundred times before.

We walk to my truck, and I hold the door open for her before getting in myself. The short drive to Vito’s is quiet at first, but it’s not uncomfortable. We’re not saying much, but I feel the connection between us like it’s always been there. It’s in the way her hand brushes against mine when I turn the wheel, in the soft glances we steal from each other when we think the other isn’t looking.

When we arrive, the familiar warm smell of Italian food hits me immediately as I open the door to Vito’s. The place is cozy and intimate—nothing flashy. It’s been around for years, and you can tell. The walls are lined with photos of the owner’s family, old menus, and vintage wine bottles. The tables are small, the lighting dim and the chatter of people is muted by the low hum of classic Italian music playing softly in the background. It’s the kind of place where you come for comfort, not for a show. And it’s perfect.

“Welcome to Vito’s,” the hostess says with a smile as she leads us to a table in the corner, one with a great view of the small dining room. I hold Olivia’s chair out for her before sitting across from her.

“This place is always packed,” I say, glancing around. “It’s one of the few things about Cherrywood Village that never changes. No matter how many times you come, it always tastes the same—always perfect.”

She chuckles and takes a sip of her wine, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass. “It’s funny. I didn’t expect to be eating dinner with my boss tonight. It feels...different. In a good way,” she adds quickly, as though she’s afraid I’ll misinterpret her.

“Same here,” I say, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something deeper in her eyes. But she hides it just as quickly. “So, what about you? What really made you want to move to Cherrywood Village? What’s your story?”

She sets her menu down, her fingers playing with the wine glass again. “I’m from Los Angeles. Big city, you know? But I got tired of the pace. The traffic, the noise, the constant rush. Iwanted something quieter, slower. Cherrywood Village seemed like the kind of place I could reset. Start over, you know? And honestly, it’s been great so far. I think I made the right choice.”

I nod, understanding more than she knows. I’ve lived in Cherrywood Village all my life, and while I’m not ready to leave, I get why someone would want a change. It’s quiet here. Peaceful. You can escape the noise and get back to the basics.

“I’m glad you ended up here, Olivia,” I say, my voice a little softer than I intended.

She meets my gaze, and for a second, the world goes quiet. There’s something unspoken between us, something we’re both aware of but haven’t fully addressed. It hangs in the air, just below the surface. She smiles, her eyes warm.

“Me too, Alex,” she says.

The rest of dinner flows easily and honestly, I’m dreading the end. When the check arrives, I don’t give her a chance to reach for it.

“My treat,” I say firmly, holding her gaze. There’s a part of me that needs her to know that I can do this. I can take care of her. I can provide for her. I don’t know how I came to feel this strongly this fast, but I know it’s real and I know it’s right.

When we’re finally headed outside, the night air is cool. I notice the way her arms wrap around herself for warmth. Without thinking, I shrug off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. She looks up at me, startled but pleased.

“Chivalry isn’t dead, huh?” she teases, her tone light but her eyes saying something else entirely.

“Not when it counts,” I reply, my voice lower than usual.

We reach my truck, and as I open the door for her, I hesitate. “Do you want me to drop you off at home?” I ask, forcing my tone to stay casual even as my pulse pounds in my ears.

Her fingers tighten around the edges of my jacket, and for a moment, she doesn’t respond. Then, she lifts her gaze to mine, her cheeks flushed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not ready for the night to end.”

The air shifts, charged with a tension that leaves no room for misinterpretation. I nod once, swallowing hard before stepping back to close her door.

The drive to my house is silent, the atmosphere between us crackling with unspoken anticipation. Every glance she sneaks my way, every soft sigh, every brush of her fingers against her knee feels like a deliberate choice. By the time we pull into my driveway, my grip on the steering wheel is tight, my knuckles white. We step out of the truck, and I pause, turning to face her before she can take another step.

“Olivia,” I say, my voice steady but low. “At any moment, we can slow this down. I don’t want to rush you.”

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