Page 68 of Light My Fire Three Times
He looks… concerned. Brows drawn, eyes soft. He can already see the panic bleeding through my smile.
“Oh. Hey.”
Smooth. Real smooth.
“You okay?” He takes a slow step closer, boots crunching in the snow. He’s holding a bag of rock salt in one hand.
I open my mouth to say fine, the automatic, easy lie, but nothing comes out. My throat closes up, hot tears burning behind my eyes, and before I can stop it, they spill over.
“Olivia…”
That’s all he gets out before the dam breaks.
A sob tears loose, raw and humiliating, and then I’m crying. Full on, gasping, snotty crying right there on Main Street like some tragic holiday movie heroine who lost the sledding competition.
Karl drops the salt and is at my side in two strides. He hesitates for half a second, just long enough for me to realize how insane I must look, then his arms are around me. Big, warm, solid.
And that’s it. I fold into him, burying my face in his jacket. My fingers clutch at the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
“I’m fine,” I hiccup against his chest, which would be funny if it weren’t the most obvious lie I’ve ever told.
Karl doesn’t call me on it. He rubs a broad hand up and down my back, slow and soothing, while the snow swirls around us like the universe decided to stage a scene.
“C’mon,” he murmurs finally, low enough that I feel it more than hear it. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Karl
DECEMBER 1ST
What is going on?
Why is Olivia sobbing?
Now isn’t the time to ask. I just need to get her home.
I get the door for her and guide her inside, wondering when the right moment will come along for me to find out the truth.
“Sit,” I tell her, pointing at the couch.
And she doesn’t argue. Just drops down, curls in on herself, trying to disappear.
I grab the softest blanket I can find and wrap it around her. She sinks into it, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear she sighed in relief.
“You want tea? Water?” I ask.
She shakes her head, eyes glued to the floor.
I crouch in front of her because standing over her feels wrong. She looks up at me for half a second, and damn, there’s something in her eyes that twists me up. Gratitude. Fear. Maybe both.
“Okay,” I say softly, making a promise. “You don’t have to talk. Just… sit. Rest. I’ve got you.”
She’s still shaking, but not from the cold. I can tell. The fire’s crackling, the blanket’s warm, and yet she’s wound so tight she might snap in half.
I hate seeing her like this. Olivia’s the kind of woman who walks into a room and makes it hers without even trying. Always in control, always five steps ahead. But right now? She looks breakable. And I don’t like it.
I sink onto the floor in front of the couch, close enough that if she needs me, I’m right there. Not touching her yet. Just waiting.
