Chapter 12 Boundaries and Misunderstandings
Olivia: POV
The pasta at Acquerello was everything Blake had promised. As we finished our tiramisu, I found myself genuinely relaxed for the first time in weeks. The warm lighting cast a golden glow across Blake's face as he told me about his plans to expand Bloom Haven with a rare orchid greenhouse.
"So," I said, swirling the last sip of wine in my glass, "who is this mystery woman you're trying to impress? Someone I know?"
Blake's eyes flickered with something I couldn't quite read. "That's classified information," he said with a half-smile. "When I actually manage to win her over, you'll be the first to know."
"Fair enough." I nodded, setting down my glass. "But you should probably know that if things get serious between you two, we might need to... adjust our friendship a bit."
"What do you mean?" His brow furrowed.
"I mean, we'd need to keep some distance. Give your girlfriend some security." I shrugged, trying to sound casual. "No woman wants her boyfriend hanging out with another female friend all the time. That's just asking for jealousy issues."
Blake leaned back, looking amused. "I think you're planning too far ahead."
"It's not about planning ahead. It's about appropriate boundaries between friends." I felt oddly defensive. "It's what any respectful person would do. Like when I was dating Jason – you kept your distance then, too."
Something flashed across his face – frustration, maybe?
"I was..." he started, then stopped himself. "That was different."
"Different how?" I pressed.
He shook his head, signaling for the check. "Never mind. Speaking of Jason, though – your taste in men is questionable at best."
"Excuse me?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Just considering the fact that he was two-timing; he's a complete jerk. And I would absolutely never do something like that," Blake handed his credit card to the waiter before I could reach for my purse.
"Shouldn't I be the one treating you?" I insisted, but he waved me off.
"Consider it payment for your dating advice, even if I'm not planning to follow most of it."
---
The ride home was comfortable, with the kind of easy silence that only exists between people who've known each other since childhood. When Blake pulled up to my parents' house, I was surprised to see the living room lights still on.
"Thanks for dinner," I said, reaching for the door handle. "And for stepping in with Jason earlier. Though for the record, I could've handled it myself."
"I know you could have," he said quietly. "But you shouldn't have to."
Before I could respond, the front door opened, and I spotted my parents silhouetted in the doorway.
'Shit'.
Blake and I exchanged glances before he turned off the engine. "Looks like I'm coming in for a nightcap," he muttered.
My mother practically pulled Blake into a hug when we reached the door. "Look at you! It's been years!" she exclaimed, examining him from head to toe. "Come in, come in! George, open that bottle of Macallan we've been saving."
I rolled my eyes. "Mom, it's late. Blake probably needs to get home."
"Nonsense," my father said, already pouring three glasses of scotch. "When did you get back from Cambridge? Nathan mentioned you two were working on something new for Westwood Tech."
"About four months ago," Blake replied, accepting the drink. "And actually, I'm not involved with the family business. I opened my own place – a garden center called Bloom Haven."
My mother's face lit up. "How wonderful! Actually, I'd heard about that before; but I thought you were still abroad, I had no idea you'd come back."
As Blake described his garden center, I noticed my parents exchanging those meaningful glances they thought were subtle. I'd seen that look before – usually when they were plotting something.
"You know," my father said casually, "Olivia's been going through a tough time lately. That boyfriend of hers – Jason – turned out to be quite the disappointment."
"Dad," I warned, feeling my cheeks heat up.
"It's just that you two were so close as children," my mother continued, ignoring my glare. "Always climbing trees and getting into trouble together. It would be nice to see you reconnect now that you're both back in San Francisco. You shouldn't let adulthood make you strangers."
"Mom," I interrupted firmly. "This isn't appropriate."
Blake looked annoyingly pleased by this entire conversation. "I completely agree with you, Mrs. Parker. Childhood friendships are precious."
"Catherine, please," my mother corrected. "And really, Blake, if you don't have a girlfriend right now, there's nothing wrong with you and Olivia spending time together. Just like old times."
"Yes, yes, absolutely," Blake nodded enthusiastically.
I stared at him in confusion. Wait, what? Hadn't he just told me at dinner about some woman he was interested in pursuing? Why was he so readily agreeing with my mother's thinly veiled matchmaking attempts?
Before I could call him out on the contradiction, a cloud of fruity perfume announced Emma's presence. She descended the stairs in ripped jeans and a crop top that would definitely get my mother's disapproval if she weren't so focused on Blake.
A cigarette dangled from her lips as she assessed the scene.
When her eyes landed on me, she gave me a withering look that could have frozen hell over. Without a word, she continued up the stairs, trailing smoke behind her.
"Emma, no smoking in the house!" my father called after her, but she'd already disappeared.
Blake stayed for another twenty minutes, charming my parents with stories about his garden center and politely answering their not-so-subtle questions about his love life. When he finally left, promising to "take good care" of me (whatever that meant), I walked him to the door.
"What was that all about?" I hissed. "I thought you said you were interested in someone."
He gave me that infuriating half-smile again. "Yeah, but I was just playing along for Catherine and George, trying not to let the conversation die."
Honestly, I didn't really buy his explanation. I wanted to press him further, but a movement near the side door caught my attention. That's when I caught a glimpse of Emma slipping out quietly, dressed in black leather jacket and pants.
Ever since Emma had been brought back into the family three years ago, I'd tried my best to be welcoming. I'd helped her settle in, showed her around San Francisco, even got her interviews at several fashion magazines when she expressed interest in styling.
But nothing I did seemed to break through her wall of hostility. Instead, she found subtle ways to undermine me – "accidentally" spilling coffee on important documents, conveniently forgetting to pass along messages, and whenever my parents weren't around, mocking me for not being their biological daughter while reminding me that she was.
Her tactics were juvenile, but they still stung.
I sighed. Was she headed to a nightclub to hook up with random guys again?