22. Aaron

22

AARON

After I’ve deposited the rest of Olivia’s things outside my—uh, her —bedroom door, I duck into my new bedroom to change into sweatpants and a hoodie. Then, I head to the kitchen, where my other project for the evening awaits.

I ran out of time before I had to grab Olivia from the airport, so the counters are a mess of carrot peels, spilled pastina, and parmesan rinds. I set to work cleaning everything up before I turn on the burner under the soup pot. I might have had to call Nonna three times during this preparation process, but I think I pulled it off.

Nonna’s Chicken Pastina soup—fondly known as Italian Penicillin soup—is one of my favorite foods on earth and making a vat of it today seemed like a great idea for two reasons:

One, my nonna totally saw through all my B.S. on the phone the other week and knows I haven’t been making it.

And two, I thought Olivia might like a home-cooked meal because airplane food is the pits.

That is, if she wants some. The bubbling soup smells amazing, if I do say so myself, but Olivia’s had a long day and is currently in the shower. Which I’m still absolutely not thinking about.

After she’s done, she’s probably going to go straight to bed. Not sit in my kitchen and drink soup with me, for goodness sake.

This isn’t an episode of Friends .

My phone buzzes on the counter, and I reach for it. It’s Jake.

Everything go okay?

Yup. She’s all settled in. Think she went to bed.

Thanks again for doing this. Watch out for her, okay?

A flicker of unease moves through me, because some of the thoughts I’ve been having this evening would probably make him want to murder me in cold blood. But I brush it off. Offering her a hot meal counts as watching out for her, right?

I will.

Good, I trust you. Off topic, are you wearing a tux to this gala thing? Reagan said it was black tie, and Sof insists that means a tux.

Glad of the conversation change, I ladle myself a huge bowl of soup, grab my phone, and plod to the living room, texting as I go.

Dude, it definitely means tux. And the gala is around the corner. Did you not buy or rent one yet? You better get on that because it can take a while to get them altered.

“Hey.”

The soft voice coming from across the living room startles the crap out of me, and I jerk my head up from where I’m typing. Unfortunately, my hand jerks too, and I give myself a shower of scalding hot soup.

“Agh!” I yell, dropping the bowl so it hits the floor and breaks. But this is the least of my worries as the broth seeps through my sweatshirt, scorching my skin. “And also ow!”

Quick as a flash, I whip off my hoodie. I’m left standing in the living room in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, stranded amongst shards of broken bowl and a sea of soup.

Olivia is standing at the side of the room, staring at me with her eyes bugging. Despite my little spill, I can’t help but notice that her hair is wet and braided over one shoulder, her skin is free of makeup, she’s got her glasses on instead of her contacts, and her current outfit confirms my suspicions: her pajamas consist of flannel pants and a baggy t-shirt.

Not gonna lie, that’s my new favorite kind of pajama.

A trickle of liquid runs down my bare chest, and I wipe at it with my hoodie. I notice that Olivia’s gaze follows my hand.

She swallows. “Um, you okay over there?”

“Soup!” I blurt out uselessly, then explain myself. “I made you soup. My grandmother’s recipe.”

Her eyes meet mine, a little glazed, and she gives her head a slight shake. “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

I clear my throat. “I’m fine, just a little embarrassed you witnessed that.”

“Are you kidding?” She grins. “Hearing Aaron Marino scream like a little girl might be the highlight of my year.”

This makes me properly belly laugh. “Glad to be of service. And the good news is, I think my reflexes were quick enough to save me a second degree burn.” I shrug. “Guess I’ve seen one too many horror movies.”

Olivia raises a brow. “You like horror movies?”

“No. But I’ve suffered through many over the years—your brother is obsessed with them.”

“I am, too,” she says. “My guilty pleasure.”

She lowers her eyes, letting them rake over my chest and torso. Not gonna lie, her gaze on my skin feels hotter than the soup. “Second degree burns or not, you’d better get a cold compress on that.”

“Right after I clean this up.” I gesture to the mess surrounding me.

“I’ll help,” she replies. And this time, I accept.

A few minutes later, I’ve picked up all the shards of what was previously my favorite bowl, and Olivia’s mopped up the floor. It occurs to me that this is the second time in the span of a month that Olivia Griswold and I are in my house together, cleaning up.

Talk about being domestic. Normally, I’m not home enough to do this type of thing.

We head into the kitchen, where I deposit the last shards in the trash, and I nod at the pot of soup. “Help yourself. I’m gonna grab a clean sweater.”

Olivia’s eyes find my bare chest once again, and she points at one of the stools beside the counter. “Sit.”

I raise a brow. “Is that an order?”

“Yes.” Her gaze is unwavering.

“I’m used to giving the orders, not taking them,” I say with a smirk.

“Sit your ass in the chair, Marino.”

I sit my ass in the chair.

“Good boy.” She smiles in satisfaction and I have to laugh at her smug expression. “Where do you keep the clean cloths?”

“Second drawer on the left of the sink.”

She opens the drawer and retrieves a couple of cloths, and as she runs them under the faucet, I realize what she’s doing. “Ah, that’s not necessary, Liv. I’m a big boy. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Your skin is currently rivaling a tomato’s.” She tuts as she comes to stand in front of me. “You ready for this?”

I skeptically eye the cloth she’s holding towards me. “You know what you’re doing?”

“Yup. I’m trained in first aid as part of my job.”

I give a little nod. And so, she gently places a cloth on my chest, smoothing it out so it hugs my pecs.

I inhale sharply—more so at the sensation of her hands moving across my skin than anything else. I’m glad when she winces, misinterpreting. “Ooh, sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Not at all.”

I sit stock still as she smoothes another cloth over my shoulder, and a third on my ribs. The cool cloths feel amazing on my hot skin, and I try to hold my breath so I don’t audibly inhale again. Or breathe in her sweet-smelling body wash and shampoo.

Or do something completely insane like grab her and kiss her…

I can’t believe how consuming the thought of that is right now.

I blame the damn shower.

“There. All done.” She steps back, and I let out a sigh that’s equal parts relief and frustration.

“Thank you, Olivia.”

“You’re welcome.”

I clear my throat. “You settling in okay?”

“Sure.” She pauses for a moment, wrinkling her nose before she adds, “Thanks again for letting me stay.”

“Anytime.” I quirk a grin. “I was ready to throw you out after you grinched out about my Christmas tree, but you’ve redeemed yourself.”

I expect her to make a smartass remark in response, but instead, she glances at the tree in the living room and frowns. “Sorry about that. Christmas isn’t my favorite.”

This confirms my earlier suspicions, and I feel a little bad for calling her a grinch. Twice.

“Don’t be sorry,” I tell her.

She lets out a sigh. “I’m sure Jake mentioned to you that our parents got divorced at Christmas time, and it was, well, messy.”

I knew their parents were divorced—had been since before I even met Jake—but he never told me any details. In contrast, I was blessed to have parents with a loving marriage full of mutual respect, but I know a lot of people who are kids of divorce, and how hard it was on them.

“That must have been difficult.”

She lifts a shoulder, but then a shadow falls over her eyes, and for a moment, her guard slips as she adds, “Nah, it was almost a relief when they finally went their separate ways and stopped constantly screaming at each other.”

“Were Christmases a little better after that?” I ask haltingly, wanting to give her space to express how she feels.

“Yeah.” Her pretty eyes flutter closed behind her glasses, like she’s replaying a memory in her mind. But then, she exhales. “Well, no, actually. Not really. By the next Christmas, my mom was remarried to a guy who had no time for Jake and me, and my dad got arrested for drunk and disorderly behavior.” She looks up at me suddenly, and her expression shutters again. “Christmas isn’t ever really the same after you’ve spent it trying to get your dad bailed out of jail.”

I swear under my breath, finally understanding her desire to hunker down for the holidays, alone. I get the sense she must do this every year—just ride it out until it’s over, trying to pay the festive season as little heed as possible.

It’s such a clear, polar opposite to how me and my family normally spend this time of year, and I wish I could do something to make it better for her. Make this Christmas a little brighter.

But if I’ve learned anything about Olivia Griswold, it’s that she knows what she likes. And even more so what she doesn’t.

“I’ll be out of your hair soon enough to give you time to yourself over the holidays,” I say, nodding towards the corner of the living room. “In the meantime, though, I’ll take down the tree.”

“No, please don’t.” She shakes her head with a dry laugh. “I can only imagine how much work it was to move that monstrosity in here. My personal beef with Christmas shouldn’t stop you from celebrating it in your own house.”

She gives me one of those determined looks of hers and I study her, trying to read her face. “About the gala,” I say gently. “I don’t want you to feel obligated if it’ll bring back painful memories for you. I can find someone else to come, or just ditch, and you can obviously still stay here?—”

“Aaron,” she cuts me off. “I’m a grown ass woman. I might not like Christmas, but I can go to a party.” Her eyes light up. “Plus, I kind of want to get a peek at this infamous Brandi.”

The joking tone in her voice indicates that her walls are back up and our serious conversation is over. For now, at least. Because I kind of liked talking to Olivia so openly and honestly. Kind of liked seeing what lies behind her guarded exterior.

And I’m not ready to part ways just yet. “Okay, well, thanks. I appreciate it, in advance.” I give her a smile. “In the meantime, do you want to eat soup and watch a scary movie with me? Not an ounce of Christmas cheer, just a bunch of decapitations and stabbings?”

She laughs. “I thought you’d never ask.”