“Honey, you’re going to get sick.”
“I’ll catch up on sleep over the next couple of days. Really, it works for me.”
“Where are you going to go?”
“You remember my friend Julie from high school?” she asked her mom.
“From the culinary program?”
Olivia nodded. “She’s got her own tapas bar on 14th street. I’m going to Metro over and hang with her a while.”
Her mother stroked a hand over her hair. The familiar gesture infused warmth into that empty space inside her. But not enough to fill it. Too bad the only man who’d interested her tonight was probably long gone by now.
“Are you sure?” her mother asked, smiling softly. “I can make you chocolate milk. We can curl up on the sofa.”
Olivia laughed. She needed a little more of a transition between France and home before she was ready to turn back into a daughter. Tonight hadn’t given her that transition. “I will absolutely take you up on that tomorrow night.” She clasped her hand around her mother’s. “And I really want to hear about the company. Quinn said you guys had a rough year.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that.” She squeezed Olivia’s hand. “I want you to enjoy your time home.”
“I would enjoy hearing about the company.”
“Absolutely, honey. And I can’t wait to hear all about where you learned to do all the fancy things you did tonight. Are you sure you even need school? Maybe you ought to think about just coming home and opening up a catering business.” Her eyes twinkled. “Wouldn’t that be fun? You, me and Quinn, working together?”
“Ah, la vache, moman.” She rubbed her eyes as a pained laugh escaped. Kill. Me. Now.
Neither her mother nor Quinn had ever bothered to learn any French. The first few years it had annoyed Olivia. It felt like one more way they rejected her life. But in more recent years, she was grateful to be able to say things out loud that that they wouldn’t understand.
Her mother pressed a kiss to Olivia’s forehead. “Don’t stay out too late. It’s so good to have you home, baby girl.”
Baby girl. The phrase twisted a place deep in her heart. Her mother had never used it until her father had died. Until her father couldn’t call her his baby girl anymore. And in a lot of ways, Olivia wished her mother had let it go with him. It felt like a constant reminder of his loss.
Merde, she needed something stronger than wine tonight.
With more half promises, she said goodbye to her mom and looked out over the city again, draining her wine. Goodbyes traveled on the warm air from the front of the building. Car doors closed, engines faded into the distance. She sighed, rested her elbow on the rail and her chin in her hand.
Christ she was so lonely. At least back home she had friends she could call on any time of day or night to hang out with. A dozen different men she could hook up with for a few hours of distraction. But even that thought didn’t do much for her tonight.
At least not until she put Tate into the role of the man. Then her body perked up and got all kinds of interested.
She smiled and licked the taste of wine from her lips. He’d made an impression so quickly. That didn’t happen very often anymore. After so many years in so many places, Olivia felt like she’d met every kind of man in every circumstance. Very little surprised her now. Very little impressed her now.
Something about Tate… Definitely his eyes. He was…hungry. Almost like a starving child. So eager to please yet so guarded, so careful. Almost timid. All of which stirred myriad of contradictions in Olivia’s mind.
He was just so…interesting.
She heaved a sigh and let her mind clear. She was too tired to try and puzzle out a stranger tonight. That was a perfect knot to untangle during a long train rid
e through the Alps, not a quick Metro ride across the city.
Olivia would love to see Julie. And her mind was still spinning. But her body was dead beat. She closed her eyes, wishing she were in New York, where she could find an all night masseuse. But as she drifted with that thought, she wondered where Tate was right now. Wondered which beautiful woman at the party had snagged him tonight after Olivia had disappeared into the kitchen. Maybe he was undressing her. Running those big, warm hands of his over her body, his soft lips following in their wake…
Olivia sighed, long and deep. “What a lucky girl…”
“Who’s a lucky girl?”
The low voice startled her eyes open. The smooth, rough timbre of Tate’s voice registered and rippled along her spine.
Olivia swiveled, putting the railing at her back for support.