It Was Always You

The Morning After

…Olive’s POV…

I woke up tangled in a throw blanket, blinking against the pale light creeping through the windows. At some point, I must’ve dozed off on the couch. The cushion still held the shape of where Lucas had been sitting just hours ago, and for a moment, I closed my eyes and let myself pretend he was still there—his arm resting warmly across my legs, the low sound of his voice filling the quiet.

But he wasn’t there and the room was cold and empty.

I pulled myself upright and groaned softly, rubbing my eyes. I picked up my phone and saw that it was 8am. My alarm wasn’t set to go off for another half hour, but I guess my internal clock was adjusting to this new way of life. The ache behind them told me I’d had more to drink than I meant to. It wasn’t that I was hungover, just hazy. Foggy with everything that hadn’t happened.

Because I kissed him. I leaned in, confident, just a little reckless, and I kissed him like I meant it. Like it had been waiting in me for years. And for a second, he kissed me back with that same energy. Hands warm on my waist, breath catching in his throat. There was no mistaking it, he wanted me too.

But then, just like that, he stopped.

I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t even embarrassed. Not really. He’d pulled away with a tenderness I didn’t expect, foreheads touching and whispering my name like he wanted to remember it. Like it meant something. And when my actions asked him to stay, he didn’t say no because he didn’t want me. He said no because we weren’t sober. Because he respected me. Because maybe, he thought I was worth waiting for.

That scared the hell out of me.

I pushed off the couch and padded to the bathroom. The tile was cold beneath my bare feet, and I took my time getting ready. I turned on the shower, realizing how normal all of these buttons and handles had quickly become my new normal. Things were changing so quickly and I had just been going along with it and adapting to my new life. I finished my shower and wrapped myself in a towel before brushing my hair back into a low bun, keeping it tidy for the day ahead. I splashed cool water on my face to ground myself and avoided the mirror for as long as I could, but eventually I looked. I needed to.

And there she was, me. Not the messy version, not the broken woman standing in her own ruins. Not the Olive that ignored red flags and ran when things got too bad, Just Olive. Flushed cheeks, clear eyes, something new blooming quietly behind my expression.

The truth was, it would be easier if Lucas didn’t want me. I could just file him away in that same dusty box where I’d put every other almost, every other disappointment. But he didn’t make that easy. He listened. He remembered things. He laughed at my jokes, even when they were terrible. And when he touched me, it didn’t feel like he was claiming me or trying to control me, it felt like he was choosing me. All of me.

I sat on the edge of the bathtub, towel in hand, and tried to untangle the knot in my chest. Why did this scare me so much? Why was the idea of him being good, too good, worse than if he had tried to push it further last night?

Because he’s different. Because if this goes wrong, it’s not just another heartbreak. It’s a mess that could rip apart this fragile, healing thing I’m trying to build. It would hurt Owen. It could ruin the farm. It could send me spiraling right back into the version of myself I fought so damn hard to leave behind.

But it could also be something real.

I dressed simply, leggings, a worn tee, and my work shoes, and stepped out onto the porch. The morning was quiet, sun just beginning to stretch over the trees. I could hear a rooster crowing off in the distance and the soft hum of activity already beginning down by the barn.

I wondered if Lucas was awake yet. If he’d slept at all. If he’d lain in bed thinking about the same almosts and maybes that played over and over again in my mind.

A breeze lifted the hem of my shirt as I leaned against the porch railing and looked toward the cabins. His porch was empty. Door closed. No movement.

Maybe that was for the best.

Maybe today we wouldn’t talk about it. Maybe we’d just work the way we always had. Loading crates. Sweating under the sun. Being careful with how long we held each other’s gaze.

Or maybe today we’d talk. Really talk.

I took a deep breath and made my way down the steps, toward whatever came next.

The scent of coffee drifted toward me from the main house, carried on the breeze. I followed it like a trail of breadcrumbs, my boots crunching the gravel path. As I rounded the side of the porch, I spotted Sofia at the outdoor table, setting out a plate of biscuits while Owen filled mugs with what had to be his signature strong brew.

Lucas wasn’t there yet.

“Morning,” I called, as casually as I could manage.

Sofia looked up with a warm smile. “Hey, good timing. Coffee’s hot and Owen didn’t burn the biscuits this time.”

“Miracles do happen,” I joked, sliding into a seat. Owen smirked and handed me a mug.

“You sleep alright?” he asked, and I could feel his eyes trying to read more into my answer than I planned to give.

I nodded, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. “Yeah. Fell asleep on the couch, actually. Guess the market wore me out.”

Sofia placed a large bowl of sausage gravy between us. “You guys did amazing yesterday. It was so busy.”

“It was,” I agreed, but my mind was drifting, half listening to my brother and his wife, half waiting for the sound of boots on the gravel, the familiar stride of someone else walking up to the table.

Someone I wasn’t sure how to look at yet.

I spooned some gravy over the not burnt biscuits in my bowl and tried to ignore the way my stomach fluttered every time I thought about Lucas walking out of his door. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to happen next, if I wanted to pick up where we left off or pretend the whole night hadn’t happened.

What if he came in and didn’t even mention it?

What if it had meant more to me than it had to him?

“Hey, you okay?” Sofia asked softly, leaning closer as Owen busied himself with the biscuits.

“Yeah. Just tired.” It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the full truth either. She gave me a look like she knew better but didn’t push.

Owen poured another round of coffee, completely unaware of the way my mind was spiraling.

“You’re quiet.” he said.

I shrugged. “Just trying to soak it all in, I guess. I like mornings like this.”

And I did. I liked the way the day hadn’t yet been touched by chaos. I liked the smell of coffee and fresh breakfast and the promise of work waiting to be done. I liked the way the sun rose behind the trees like a slow inhale.

But still, I kept glancing toward the door.

Still waiting for him.

Still wondering what I’d say when I saw his face.

Still wondering if he’d look at me like last night was a mistake—or like he couldn’t stop thinking about it either.

The screen door creaked open, and I stiffened, turning slightly in my chair. I could feel his eyes on me, but I couldn’t look up to meet them.