The blaring alarm jolted me awake. Groaning, I rolled over, slapped it off, then flopped back onto the mattress. The other side of the bed was cold—no surprise. Olivia was already out on her two-mile morning run, like clockwork.
That was Olivia: focused, disciplined, and already halfway through her day before most people even hit snooze for the third time. I envied that drive. Meanwhile, I was still trying to figure out how to peel myself off the mattress.
I’m Trevor Whitaker, 23 years old, a cop in McMinnville, Oregon. Born and raised here, I never thought I’d end up patrolling the same streets where I used to ride my bike as a kid. Life has a way of circling back on you. My parents still live in the house I grew up in, and my brother Jake has his own place across town with his girlfriend, Emma. Funny enough, Emma’s one of my childhood friends, and now she’s pregnant with Jake’s kid.
Another one of those friends, Ethan, moved to Portland with his girlfriend. We all grew up together, but I’m the one who stayed behind. Maybe it’s because McMinnville has this gravitational pull—quiet streets, familiar faces, and just enough small-town charm to make you think you belong.
Olivia, though, is another story. You already know a little about her, but here’s the full picture. We’ve lived together for three years and have been dating for a year and a half. Yeah, it sounds backward—roommates first, then a couple. Let me explain.
We met late one evening when my training officer and I were driving the backroads at dusk, the sun low and spilling golden light across the fields. We found her kneeling by the roadside, administering CPR to a man in a bad car accident. She wasn’t a nurse or an EMT, just someone who came across the wreck and couldn’t look away. She did everything she could, but his injuries were too severe.
Afterward, I couldn’t get her out of my head—how calm and focused she’d been. We talked at the scene, and she gave me her number. It started simple: quick chats, shared frustrations about the world, and an undeniable spark of something deeper. She never liked talking much about herself, but over time, I learned that she’d grown up in the foster system, bouncing from home to home. She pretended it didn’t bother her, yet the way she tensed whenever someone mentioned family said otherwise. The system taught her to be self-reliant, not to expect anything from anyone. It explained why she was guarded, why she worked so hard to keep everything under control.
Not long after, she needed a place to stay. I had a spare room, and at first, we were just two people helping each other through life’s rough patches—she was recovering from a breakup, and I was navigating the early days of being a cop. Late-night conversations turned into movie marathons. Slowly, and almost without realizing it, things shifted.
One night, after a little too much wine, we crossed the line between friendship and something more. It wasn’t awkward—it felt natural, like the next step in a story we’d already been writing. What began as casual intimacy grew into something real.
Stretching, I swung my legs off the bed. The cold hardwood floor jolted me fully awake. My eyes drifted to the framed photo on the nightstand—Olivia and me at Rose City Comic Con.
That day, she stole the show. Her costume was stunning: vivid orange skin, fiery red hair like molten copper, and feline ears perched on her head that looked almost too real. She played it coy when I asked, laughing it off with her usual mischief.
But it wasn’t just the ears. Her eyes had been mesmerizing—larger than life, shifting shades of green and gold in the light. Everything about her that day—from the metallic, second-skin outfit to the intricate bracelets on her wrists—drew attention. She didn’t just wear a costume; she became it, moving through the crowds like she belonged in another world.
Back then, it felt like just another fun day. This morning, the memory nagged at me. The costume had been too perfect, too seamless. Ridiculous, I told myself. Just Olivia being Olivia—larger-than-life, unpredictable, always a step ahead.
Shaking off the thought, I shuffled out of the bedroom. The house was quiet except for the faint hiss of something cooking.
The smell of eggs and toast greeted me before I reached the kitchen, cutting through the haze of sleep. Leaning against the doorway, I blinked in the soft morning light streaming through the window.
Olivia stood at the stove, moving with effortless precision, humming softly. With a flick of her wrist, she flipped an egg onto a plate. It was like watching an artist at work.
“Hey, look who finally decided to wake up,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. Her grin was warm and teasing, like the day was already perfect and I just needed to catch up.
“Morning,” I mumbled, running a hand through my hair.
She chuckled, the sound cutting through my morning fog. “Coffee’s on the counter. You look like you need it. Want me to grab you a straw?”
“Funny,” I muttered, heading for the mug she’d set out. “How are you always this chipper? Secret superpower or just an unhealthy amount of caffeine?”
“Somebody has to keep us on track,” she quipped, flipping another egg with infuriating grace. “Otherwise, you’d still be asleep at noon, and I’d have to roll you out of bed.”
Sliding my arms around her waist, I pulled her close. Her familiar floral scent grounded me like always. But as I held her, I caught a faint tension in her posture—a stiffness she tried to hide. I recognized that look; the same guarded expression she’d worn when she first moved in, still unsure if this could be home or if I could be someone she could trust.
“Just be careful out there, alright?” she said softly, her voice dipping into quiet concern.
I kissed her cheek, offering a reassuring smile. “Always. Because you asked so nicely.”
We’d just finished eating when a knock at the door interrupted us. Olivia wiped her hands on a towel, sighing theatrically. “Time to face the firing squad,” she said with mock cheer.
“It’s a spa day, not an ambush,” I replied with a smirk, already heading toward the door.
She raised an eyebrow. “Says the guy who doesn’t have to field a dozen questions about wedding dates and baby names.”
Before I could retort, the doorbell rang again, more insistent this time. I opened it to find Mom, practically radiating excitement.
“Morning, sweetheart!” she said, pulling me into a quick hug before brushing past and into the house. Her attention zeroed in on Olivia. “And there’s my favorite almost-daughter-in-law!”
Olivia smiled politely. “Morning, Mrs. Whitaker.”
Mom waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, enough with the ‘Mrs. Whitaker’ thing. Just call me Mom, remember?” She linked an arm through Olivia’s. “But if Trevor has something planned, a little heads-up wouldn’t hurt—for planning purposes, of course.”
Trailing behind was Maya, her belly rounded as she waddled in. She waved and then grinned at Olivia. “Hey, Liv! Ready to be pampered?”
Olivia leaned back against the counter with an exaggerated groan. “I guess. After the week I’ve had, I’ll take it—even if it comes with a side of third-degree questioning.”
“Questioning?” Mom asked, feigning innocence as her grin turned sly. “Who, me? Never! But you know, Olivia, a little hint wouldn’t hurt—like when Trevor might pop the question.”
Maya laughed as she eased onto the couch, resting a hand on her belly. “Oh, come on, Liv. It’s not so bad. Besides, my little guy loves it when we talk mushy stuff. He kicks like crazy whenever I mention Jake and me.”
Olivia sighed, shaking her head but smiling faintly. “Fine. I’ll endure it—for the baby’s sake.” She turned to me, arching an eyebrow. “Trevor, you owe me a spa day without the interrogation next time. A foot rub at minimum.”
I leaned in, kissing her forehead and giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Deal. You’re a saint.”
Mom clapped her hands together, clearly pleased. “Alright, let’s get going. Olivia, you’re going to love this place—completely rejuvenating. And don’t worry, I promise I’ll behave.”
Maya snorted. “Behave? Yeah, sure.”
I grabbed my keys from the counter, pausing as I passed Olivia. “Fine, just don’t scare her off, okay?” I caught Olivia’s eye. “And hey, if it gets too much, just... let them know. You don’t have to keep everything in.”
She smiled, but something weary lingered in her eyes. “You know me. I’m used to handling it.”
I nodded, but the worry stuck. “I know. Just remember, you don’t have to handle it alone.”
She nudged me lightly, lips curling into a soft smile. “I’ll survive. Barely. Just make sure you come back in one piece—your nephew’s going to need the cool uncle.”
Stepping outside into the cool morning air, Mom’s voice followed me. “Love you, Trevor! Be safe!”
I glanced back, giving a quick nod. “Love you too, Mom.”
Closing the door behind me, I stood for a moment, letting the warmth of the scene settle in my chest. Family, friends—they were everything. But as I walked to my car, that flicker of tension I’d caught in Olivia’s eyes earlier still nagged at me.
She always carried more than she let on, her burdens kept quiet beneath that steady smile.
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