Chapter 11 Golden Hour Confessions
Blake: POV
The sunset painted San Francisco in shades of amber and gold as I waited in my car outside Radiance Inc. My phone screen remained stubbornly blank—no message from Olivia with the restaurant location yet. I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, debating whether to text her again.
She'd said she'd choose the place and text me the details, but it had been hours. Maybe she'd changed her mind. Or maybe she was just busy. Either way, sitting here like some lovesick teenager wasn't my style.
Fuck it. I wasn't going to wait around for her to make up her mind.
I grabbed my phone and sent a quick text: [Still on for dinner? Let me know where to meet you.]
Three little dots appeared immediately, then disappeared. Then reappeared. I rolled my eyes. Classic Olivia, overthinking a simple text message.
Finally, my phone dinged.
[Sorry, meeting ran late. How about Acquerello at 7:30? I can meet you there.]
I glanced at the dashboard clock. It was already 6:45. She'd probably need time to wrap up work, maybe go home and change. The restaurant was at least twenty minutes from here in evening traffic.
[I'm already near your office. I'll wait and drive us both.]
This time her response was immediate: [No need. I can meet you there.]
Why was she being so difficult? I started typing a response when I spotted her walking through the glass doors of the Radiance building, phone in hand. Her cream blouse and charcoal skirt reminded me of how much she'd always favored simple, elegant clothes—even back in middle school.
I pocketed my phone and stepped out of the car.
"Blake?" She looked genuinely surprised to see me. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you," I said simply, opening the passenger door. "Figured I'd save us both the hassle of finding parking downtown."
She hesitated, glancing from me to the open door. "I told you I'd meet you there."
"And I ignored you." I couldn't help the small smirk that formed on my lips. "Get in, Parker. The reservation won't wait forever."
She sighed and walked over.
"Fine. But only because parking at Acquerello is a nightmare." She slid into the passenger seat with practiced grace.
As I walked around to my side, I allowed myself a brief moment of victory. It wasn't much, but getting Olivia Parker to bend even slightly felt like winning the lottery.
"I didn't make a reservation yet," she admitted as I started the car. "I wasn't sure you'd still want to go after..."
"After your ex made a scene?" I finished for her, pulling into traffic. "Takes more than that to scare me off. Actually, I already made reservations, figured you might forget."
"Good job." She twisted her fingers in her lap. "Thanks again for stepping in. Though I still maintain I could have handled it myself."
"Never doubted that for a second." I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel her studying my profile. "You always could take care of yourself."
The silence that followed wasn't entirely uncomfortable. Through the corner of my eye, I saw her relax slightly into the seat.
"So," she said finally. "You had a meeting with my father?"
"Just discussing some potential collaboration between Bloom Haven and Radiance." I shrugged, downplaying it. "Your organic skincare line could benefit from some of our botanical extracts."
"You're turning your garden center into a supplier now?" She sounded genuinely interested.
"Diversifying. It's good business." I flashed her a quick grin. "Not all of us can coast on family connections, Parker."
She laughed actually laughe and the sound hit me straight in the chest. "You're one to talk, Westwood."
Twenty minutes later, we were seated at a quiet corner table in Acquerello. The restaurant's warm lighting and understated elegance made it a perfect choice for dinner—intimate without being too romantic.
"Order whatever you want," Olivia said, passing me a menu. "My treat."
I raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were going dutch."
"Consider it payment for rescuing me from Jason."
"I'll have the most expensive thing on the menu then," I joked, scanning the options.
She rolled her eyes. "Of course you will."
The waiter approached, and I waved my hand. "You choose. I'm not picky."
Olivia gave me a look that was half exasperation, half amusement. "Really? The Blake Westwood I remember used to send back dishes if they had even a hint of cilantro."
"People change." I leaned back in my chair. "Some of us grow up."
She ordered for both of us with the confidence.
When the waiter left, she took a sip of water and studied me over the rim of her glass.
"I got you the risotto," she said. "I remember you liked it. And I avoided anything too heavy because of your back."
The thoughtfulness surprised me. "How considerate. When did you become so attentive to my needs?"
"Don't get used to it," she said quickly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Just being practical. Last thing I need is to drag you to a hospital because you ate something that aggravated your condition."
"My knight in shining armor," I teased.
She laughed again, more relaxed now. "Please. I spent half our childhood covering for you whenever you got into trouble. Remember when you broke Mrs. Peterson's prized orchid trying to impress that girl in fifth grade?"
"Sarah Miller," I supplied, smiling at the memory. "And you told Mrs. Peterson that her cat knocked it over."
"She never questioned it because I was the 'good one,'" Olivia said smugly.
"You were always saving my ass," I admitted. The conversation was flowing easily now, the years of distance momentarily forgotten.
"Someone had to. You were too busy trying to look cool."
An idea formed in my mind—risky, but maybe worth it. "Maybe I can return the favor now," I said casually. "Help you out for a change."
"Help me how?" Her guard was instantly back up.
I hesitated, then decided to go for it. "I need your advice, actually. There's this woman I'm interested in."
"You're asking me for dating advice?" She sounded incredulous.
"Who better? You know me better than most people." I kept my tone light, watching her carefully. "What do you think? Any tips for winning over a woman who's way out of my league?"
Olivia took another sip of water, clearly buying time to process this turn in conversation. "Well," she said finally, "you might want to work on not being so... direct. Women appreciate a bit of mystery."
"So I've been told."
"And honestly?" She gestured vaguely at me. "Your face and body are probably your best selling points. Your personality is an acquired taste."
I couldn't help but laugh at her blunt assessment. "Ouch. At least I have something going for me."
"Don't worry," she said with mock seriousness. "I'm sure there's someone out there who'll find your particular brand of arrogance charming."
Our food arrived, temporarily pausing the conversation. As the waiter left, I decided to push a little further.
"Aren't you curious?" I asked, watching her take her first bite of pasta. "About who she is?"