Page 42 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
This is about Olivia being in a new, strange place where everything is falling apart.
Her house? A renovation nightmare.
Her clinic? Unusable for weeks because it’s growing its own terrarium.
Her stress levels? Through the fucking roof.
She’s been pretending—hard—like she has any real control over the disaster her life has temporarily become. Watching her micromanage the contractors resembles watching a chihuahua barking orders at a construction crew—tenacious, determined, and utterly ineffective.
It was—if I’m being honest—fucking hilarious.
But it’s also admirable because Olivia doesn’t back down easily. She doesn’t crumble. She fights through it, gritting her teeth and exerting control where she can, even if the situation is so far out of her hands that it’s laughable.
So yeah, maybe I told Mike she’s the boss and to listen to her. I don’t know shit about running a clinic, or what her deadlines are, or how she’s planning to get this place back on its feet.
She needs to relax.
The woman is too tense, perpetually wound tight as if she’s bracing for an uncontrollable catastrophe. And that?
That’s something I can fix quickly.
Distract.
Tease.
Pull her out of her head long enough for her to breathe.
Since I’m a giver, I decided to make the process fun for myself. Cue: the hike. Okay, I sold it as a walk, but isn’t this better?
Sarah certainly thinks so. My girl is living her best life, bounding ahead on the dirt path, tail wagging and ears flopping with every joyful bounce. The trail winds through the hills just outside of town, shaded by towering trees, with sunlight filtering through the leaves in a way that makes it feel like we’ve stepped into a postcard.
It’s idyllic.
It’s peaceful.
It’s exactly what Olivia needs.
Which, judging by the absolute murder in her eyes, she does not agree with.
“Lucian.”
The way she says my name? Aggravated. Exasperated. On the verge of homicide. It’s fucking adorable.
If you ask me, it’s the perfect way for a woman to say my name. I glance over at her, hands in my pockets, a lazy grin curving my lips. “Yeah, Doc?”
Her ponytail bounces with every furious step she takes. “This is not what ‘needing fresh air and a walk’ means.”
I feign innocence. “Really? Because you said—and I quote—’I need to get away from this disaster before I have a full-blown mental breakdown.’ And look at that—I delivered.”
She glares. “I never said any of that.”
I tap my temple. “You thought about it. I provided you what you really needed but were too shy to ask for.”
“You kidnapped me.”
I smirk. “Kidnapped is such a strong word.”
“You forced me into your car.”
