Page 1 of Olivia's Only Pretending
One
Victor
Hey Liv, I’m coming by your place this evening after work, I want to finish up the deck. Just a heads up- I’ll probably be there when you get home.
Watson will probably greet you before I do. He’s stationed by the door already, I think he’s waiting for you.
Me
tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can!!
Of course, I knew Victor Hernandez had a crush on me, at least when we first met. There was a particular way my friend Victor Hernandez’s amber eyes crinkled when he was looking at something he really liked, and that was exactly how his eyes crinkled at me the day my younger sister, Lucy, introduced us months ago.
The day we met, I’d stopped by my small-town coffee shop, Coffees and Commas, in Sweet River to meet my sister and her then-work partner, Adam. It was hard to ignore how Adam’s rakish assistant, Victor, lit up when his warm brown eyes landed on me. And then there was that crinkle—like he was looking directly into bright sunshine, creased at the edges but not looking away, half grinning.
That summer afternoon, Victor immediately offered to wait in line with me to order our lattes. Beneath the sunlight gleaming through the tall café windows, he excitedly asked me everything—about my summer, the old house I’d just moved into, and how I like my coffee. His focus was on me the whole time, not wasting a single second getting to know me.
His full attention, eyes aglow, was enough to draw me in. Victor had a way of ropingeveryonein like an irresistible lasso.
He’d given me his full attention every single time we met since then. It felt good, but I wasn’t about to get lost in those crinkly eyes. I didn’t need any more heartbreak. I had to remind myself over and over of that fact when it came to Victor.
But a girl could always use a good friend. So, instead of a romance, Victor and I grew a friendship. Anything more wasn’t something I everreallyentertained.
One of the biggest reasons was that he was younger than me, twenty-four to my twenty-nine. I was ready for something serious, even marriage, while Victor was still in his “dating around” phase. Another reason was that, as weak in the knees as those crinkly brown eyes could make you feel, they were not reserved for me. They crinkled over a lot of things—his golden retriever puppy, a cold bottle of Coke on a hot day, a fresh batch of his mom’s salsa, or when he was blowing sawdust off a completed woodworking project, proud of what he'd made.
And me, one of his best friends.
He was grinning at me on this late September afternoon as I walked through the door into my house after a long day at work.
“Olivia,” he said, his wavy jet-black hair flopping over his eyes. He was there, as he often was, working on one of the renovation projects for my fixer-upper house. He was standing in my kitchen in a white T-shirt and jeans—so casual in comparison to my work attire of a black pencil skirt and a white satin blouse.
“Hey there,” I said, dropping my cardigan on the coatrack in my entryway. Late September in Texas meant it was finally cool in the mornings, but by the afternoon, the sweater always ended up bundled in my bag.
Victor’s golden retriever, Watson, panted up to me as Victor leaned his shoulder against the doorway between the entryway and the living room. Furry ears were under my hand.
“You’ve got to see the deck out back. It’s finally done,” Victor said.
I’d bought this old, historic house in my hometown of Sweet River five months ago, only weeks before meeting Victor. It was one of the first things we talked about, standing in line at Coffees and Commas—his love of renovation and woodworking piquing his interest in my fixer-upper project. He’d offered to help a few times before I finally accepted.
I was in love with this old house, but I was in over my head, which had me overwhelmed, so his woodworking skills were an answer to my prayers.
We connected over our love of fixing broken things right away. Like me, Victor didn’t see a chore when he looked at this fixer-upper, but instead, he too saw something beautiful waiting for the right eyes to look at it in the right way.
Over the summer, he came over nearly every day to work on my floors, my kitchen, my walls, my yard. We’d created our ownrhythm and routine, working together over the past few months. Our friendship caught quick, like striking a match.
We had heart-to-hearts while painting walls and made inside jokes as we tore down another. I’d learned the rumble of his laughter, the way his brow furrowed in concentration when he was working, and a list of his favorite songs.
I ditched my ankle boots in the entryway before Watson and I followed Victor through the living room and out the glass doors leading to my backyard. I placed my bare feet on the warm wood of the deck Victor had been working on for the last several weeks. I grazed a hand across the railing.
“Wow,” I gasped, glancing around. He’d set up my patio furniture—a terra-cotta sofa with matching chairs and a round black table. “It’s a dream. I can’t wait to sit out here under the stars.”
His chest puffed a little in pride. His cheeks were pink under his dark stubble. “It looks pretty good, huh?” He knelt down to scratch Watson’s belly.
“Pretty good is an understatement.” I shook my head. My auburn hair fell out of its ponytail. My historic house came with rules and regulations for renovations, so not only had Victor become my volunteer renovation buddy, but he’d also pored over historic home rules and codes with me and made sure to honor them.
I’d probably only have half the progress we’d made if it wasn’t for him.
“You owe me a bottle of Coke out here.” He grinned up at me from his spot on the ground with Watson. My big living room windows opened behind us, curtains tripping in the early autumn breeze.
