out. “I’m sorry for that, but not for saying what I did. You don’t believe me? Ask Sandy. He’ll tell you plenty of stories. Hell, half of them are his own before he settled down with Kelsie.”
I ignore him, breathing through another string of reps. Press. Release. Press. Release.
Crash.
“I see how hard you work, Oliver. I know what you’re about. But I promise you, if you pursue this woman, your knee will be the least of your problems.”
The guard at Genevieve’s community security checkpoint was expecting me and lets me through without an issue. I get buzzed through her private gate and park further from the mansion this time, surprised to see another car already in the circular driveway. A driver waves from inside when I duck to inspect through the windshield. I return a stiff wave and keep walking. Is she coming or going? Is someone else here? She said we only have an hour and a half, and I bristle at the thought of sharing her with another visitor.
I’ve barely ascended the steps when the door swings open and she rushes toward me. Laughing, I catch her small body and hold on as she buries her face in my chest.
“Hello to you, too,” I say softly against her hair. Her arms tighten around me, and now I really want to get her alone and sort out what’s going on.
She murmurs something that sounds strangely close to “I missed you” but I’m not sure I was supposed to hear it. This greeting is so different from the first time I visited her home. So honest and uninhibited. It warms me and stings at the same time. God, she must be lonely.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, pulling back just enough to search my face. “Lana just made sushi. Were you training this morning?”
I nod. “I’ve been up since five.”
Her nose scrunches in the most adorable grimace. “You were getting up when I was going to bed.” She tugs me forward to guide me inside.
“How was your photoshoot?” I ask, and she shrugs.
“Eh. It was a photoshoot.”
“And the interview?”
“Same as always.”
She doesn’t let go of my hand as she leads me through her home, only this time there are others milling around. Staff members, I assume, but I can’t begin to guess what they do. Not until we reach the kitchen and encounter “Chef Lana” putting the finishing touches on some amazing-looking sushi rolls.
“Hi, I’m Oliver,” I say, lifting my hand. Hers are occupied, so she smiles back a greeting.
“Hi, Oliver. Lana.”
“Oh, you have to try her Breakfast Roll.”
“Breakfast Roll?” I ask, loving the sudden light in Genevieve’s eyes.
She plucks a piece from the tray and holds it up to my lips. “It’s all my favorite things about breakfast in sushi form. Are you allergic to anything?” I shake my head, open my mouth, and let her shove the bite in. Her finger brushes my lips, sending an unexpected shudder through me.
Her eyes ignite as she waits for my reaction, so expectant and hopeful. I’ve never wanted to love a bite of food so much in my life, and a smile slips out as the flavors burst on my tongue. Tart grapefruit mixes with crunchy granola and creamy yogurt. A surprising hint of honey melts from the rice. These are the flavors of breakfast to her? I love that I know that.
“What do you think? Good, right?”
“It’s delicious. I’ve never had anything like it.”
She seems relieved, and my amusement fades. I don’t want her happiness tied to mine. I want her eyes to light up over her “Breakfast Roll” whether I love it or hate it.
“If you want something else, Lana can make it for you. Is that okay, Chef?” she asks the older woman.
Lana smiles and nods. “Of course. Whatever you want.”
“This is great,” I say. “Seriously, it all looks amazing.”
Genevieve beams and hands me a plate. “Eat up. You must be hungry.”
I am, but I’m more interested in watching her eat. Who am I kidding? I’m happy to do anything with her.
“Okay, well, I’ll be back in a bit to clean up. Let me know if you need anything,” Lana says with a smile, but my relief at being alone with Genevieve only lasts a second when another young woman breezes into the kitchen. She stops abruptly when she sees me, her eyes widening.
“Shoot. You’re here already,” she says, and I can’t help but smile at the blunt introduction.
“I am. I’m Oliver,” I say, extending my hand.
“Hadley,” she says,