038. playing house

( the thirty eighth chapter )

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Olivine stirred awake to the soft chime of her phone vibrating against her nightstand. Squinting against the golden morning light streaming through her curtains, she reached for it with a groggy hand. Rafe's name glowed on the screen. She sighed, already bracing herself for whatever early-morning possessiveness he was about to unload.

"Hello?" she mumbled, her voice hoarse with sleep.

"Morning, babe," came his low, lazy drawl. He always sounded so unbothered, as if the world bent to his timing. "Miss me yet?"

"It's been, what? Eight hours?" she teased, still half-asleep. "You've survived worse."

"Eight hours too long," he shot back, the sincerity in his tone catching her off guard. Before she could respond, his voice turned playful. "What're you wearing?"

"Rafe," she warned, her tone sharper now, though it didn't entirely mask the amusement creeping in.

"Relax, I'm kidding." A beat. "Well, kinda."

She rolled onto her side, pressing her cheek against the cool pillow. "You're impossible."

"Maybe," he admitted, his voice softening. "But hey... I was thinking about you last night. Your hair, actually."

Her brows knit together as she absently toyed with the edge of the pillowcase. "What about it?"

"How it really is. I wanna see it curly."

Her stomach flipped, a mix of surprise and defensiveness swirling in her chest. "What's wrong with it straight?"

"Nothing," he answered quickly. "You're gorgeous, Liv. Always. I just... I want to see all of you. The real you—not just the polished, camera-ready version you show everyone else."

She bit her lip, torn between the intimacy of his words and the subtle implication that she wasn't already enough. "Maybe someday," she replied lightly, trying to steer the conversation away.

"Not someday," he pressed. "Soon."

Olivine sighed, shaking her head. "We'll see. Right now, I need to get up. I've got to check on John B."

There was a pause on his end, the mood shifting abruptly. "Why?"

Her brows furrowed. "Why? Because he's hurt, Rafe. Topper pushed him off a freaking tower. Someone has to check on him."

"Sarah can do that," he snapped, his voice hardening. "You don't need to be involved in their mess."

"Rafe," she said firmly, sitting up and throwing her legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm going. End of discussion."

He exhaled sharply, frustration clear even through the phone. "Fine. Call me when you're done."

By the time she arrived at the hospital, the tension from their call lingered like static in the air. She clutched the bag of warm beignets her mother had insisted she bring and made her way toward John B.'s room. Pushing the door open, she froze at the sight before her.

Sarah was perched on the edge of John B.'s bed, her hand resting lightly against his cheek. Whatever he'd just said made her laugh, her shoulders shaking with quiet amusement. The air between them felt private—intimate, even—and it struck a nerve Olivine hadn't expected.

Clearing her throat, she stepped further into the room. They broke apart instantly, like guilty kids caught sneaking out. Sarah's cheeks flushed red, while John B. offered her a sheepish smile.

"Hey, Olive," he greeted, his voice raspy but cheerful. "Long time no see. You bring me something good?"

"Just beignets," she replied, setting the bag on the bedside table. "Figured you'd need them after, you know, the whole falling off a tower thing."

John B. grinned, already tearing into the bag. "You're a lifesaver. Seriously."

Sarah hesitated, glancing between the two of them before reaching for a piece. She nibbled on it daintily, her usual charm muted by whatever tension had settled in the room.

Before any of them could say more, the door opened, and Ward Cameron strode in. His eyes swept over the scene, lingering on Olivine just long enough to unsettle her, before landing on Sarah.

"Glad to see you're still alive," he said, his tone cordial but brisk.

"Barely," John B. quipped, holding up his casted wrist for emphasis.

Ward offered a tight smile before glancing at Olivine. "Could I borrow you for a moment?" It wasn't really a question.

She followed him into the hallway, clutching her arms against the sudden chill. He turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

"I wanted to apologize," she started, her voice quiet. "About the necklace. I didn't know it was Leah's—Rafe didn't tell me until later. I feel like I overstepped."

Ward's gaze softened, his usual stoicism cracking just enough to let her see the man behind it. "There's no need to apologize," he said, shaking his head. "If Rafe gave you that necklace, it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision. He doesn't do things like that lightly."

"But—"

"Leah always told Rafe that when he found the woman he truly loved, he should give her that necklace," Ward interrupted, his tone gentler now. "It's a family tradition."

Her chest tightened, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy blanket. She hadn't expected this. Any of it.

Ward chuckled, breaking the tension. "Besides, I think it looks better on you than it ever would on me."

She managed a small laugh, but her thoughts raced. If what Ward said was true, then Rafe's gesture wasn't just thoughtful—it was monumental. And that terrified her.

By the time she made it back to her car, her phone buzzed with a text.

baby: come over. i miss you.

Her lips curved into a faint smile, but she typed back quickly.

nartinolive: miss you too, but I have things to do, baby.

His reply came almost instantly.

baby: no, you don't. i asked your mom. now get over here.

Despite herself, she laughed, shaking her head. Of course, he'd gone behind her back to clear her schedule.

martinolive: strawberry milkshake. and we're baking donuts

His reply made her grin.

baby: you can bake donuts??? marry me. but yes, anything you want.

Shaking her head fondly, she started the engine, already looking forward to the quiet moments they'd steal together. With Rafe, it was always complicated—but it was never boring. And somehow, that was enough. For now.

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As Olivine pulled into the circular driveway of Rafe's loft, she felt a mix of anticipation and unease. The weight of Ward's words still lingered in her chest. Rafe wasn't one for subtle gestures—everything he did was loud, bold, and brash. But the necklace? That felt different. Too intentional. Too vulnerable. And vulnerability wasn't something she associated with Rafe Cameron.

She barely had time to put the car in park before the front door swung open. Rafe stood there, leaning against the frame with his usual cocky grin, a tangle of blond hair falling over his forehead. He was dressed in gray sweats and a loose white tee, looking as casual as ever, but his eyes lit up when he saw her.

"Took you long enough," he called out as she stepped out of the car, the bag of groceries in hand.

"Some of us actually have responsibilities," she quipped, brushing past him and into the house. The cool air hit her immediately, a stark contrast to the warm breeze outside.

Rafe followed her inside, shutting the door behind them. "You didn't have to bring anything. I've got a freezer full of crap my dad sent over."

"You think frozen donuts count as 'baking,' Rafe?" she shot back, arching a brow as she set the bag on the counter.

He smirked, leaning against the counter beside her. "I think frozen donuts are good enough if you're with me."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the faint smile tugging at her lips. "Charming as ever."

"You love it," he said confidently, reaching for the bag. She swatted his hand away before he could peek inside.

"Hands off. You'll see when we start."

He stepped closer, his chest brushing her shoulder. "You're in charge, baby. Whatever you want."

For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, the morning sunlight spilling through the large kitchen windows. Rafe's presence was steady and warm behind her, his teasing replaced by something softer. She turned her head slightly, catching his gaze, and his expression shifted—less guarded, more open.

"You good?" he asked quietly.

Her stomach flipped at the sincerity in his voice. It wasn't often that Rafe allowed himself to be this unguarded, and it always threw her off when he did.

"Yeah," she replied softly. "Just tired. It's been... a lot lately."

His jaw tightened, and she could tell he was holding back a thousand questions. But he nodded, respecting the boundary she silently set.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat and stepping back. "If anyone can pull off 'exhausted and still look hot,' it's you."

She snorted, grateful for the shift in tone. "That's your line? Really?"

He grinned, grabbing a bowl from one of the cabinets. "Donuts first, insults later. Let's go."

An hour later, the kitchen was a mess. Flour dusted the counter, streaked their clothes, and even managed to get in Rafe's hair. He was terrible at following directions, insisting on improvising at every step, and she'd spent most of the time swatting his hands away from the dough.

"These are going to be a disaster," she said, shaking her head as she placed the last tray in the oven.

"They'll taste good," he argued, licking a streak of jelly off his finger. "That's all that matters."

"You're impossible," she muttered, turning to clean up the mess they'd made.

Rafe leaned against the counter, watching her. She was barefoot, her hair pulled into a messy bun, and there was a streak of flour on her cheek. For all her polished perfection in public, this version of Olivine—relaxed and unguarded—was the one he couldn't get enough of.

"You look good like this," he said suddenly.

She glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "Like what? Covered in flour?"

"Real," he said simply.

Her hands stilled, the sponge hovering over a flour-streaked bowl. His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

"Rafe—"

"I mean it," he interrupted, stepping closer. His voice dropped, soft but insistent. "You don't have to try so hard with me, Liv. You know that, right?"

Her throat tightened, and she looked away, focusing on the dishes. "It's not about you."

"Then what's it about?" he pressed.

She didn't answer right away, the sound of water running filling the silence. Finally, she turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "You don't get it. People see me a certain way, and if I don't meet their expectations—"

"Screw their expectations," he cut in, his voice firm. "You're not some showpiece, Liv. You're—"

"Enough?" she finished for him, a bitter edge to her voice.

"More than enough," he said, his tone softening. "But you're so damn focused on being perfect that you don't even see it."

Her chest tightened at the raw honesty in his words. She wanted to argue, to push him away, but something in his eyes stopped her. He meant it.

"Why do you care so much?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Because it's you," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

For a moment, they just stood there, the space between them charged. Then the oven timer beeped, breaking the spell. Olivine blinked, stepping back as if the distance would make it easier to breathe.

"Donuts are ready," she said, her voice steady again.

Rafe didn't push. He just smiled faintly, watching as she turned to pull the tray from the oven.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "They'll be good. Just like you said."

And though the moment passed, the weight of his words lingered, settling into a part of her she wasn't ready to confront. Not yet.

As Olivine placed the last batch of donuts on the cooling rack, the doorbell rang, cutting through the quiet hum of their moment. Rafe wiped his flour-dusted hands on his sweats and shot her a grin.

"Food's here. Try not to eat all the donuts before I get back."

She rolled her eyes, leaning against the counter as he headed for the door.

A few minutes later, Rafe returned with two large brown paper bags in hand, the delicious scent of freshly made food wafting through the air. He kicked the door shut with his foot and set the bags on the living room coffee table.

"You ordered from The Wreck and Heyward's?" Olivine teased, following him into the room. She carried their drinks, her strawberry milkshake already half gone, the pink liquid swirling lazily in the cup. "Feeling indecisive?"

"Nah," he replied, pulling the takeout boxes from the bags. "I just know what you like."

He shot her a knowing smirk as he unpacked her shrimp burger, fries, and her favorite milkshake—exactly what she always got from The Wreck.

Olivine's lips twitched, trying not to smile. "Impressive memory."

"Don't act surprised, Liv," he quipped, setting her food in front of her before retrieving his own order of prawn pasta with creamy white sauce. "You've been getting the same thing since, what, last summer? I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were stupid," she said sweetly, dropping onto the couch. "Just... occasionally oblivious."

Rafe snorted, collapsing onto the couch beside her. He flicked on the flat-screen, the logo of some teen CW drama lighting up the screen.

"Is this... The Vampire Diaries?" she asked incredulously, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Don't judge me," he said defensively, shrugging as he stabbed his fork into his pasta. "It's trash, but it's entertaining. Besides, the murders keep it interesting."

Olivine shook her head with a laugh, sinking deeper into the couch as she unwrapped her shrimp burger. Taking a huge bite, she let out a muffled sound of appreciation.

"Good?" Rafe asked, watching her like she was the most fascinating thing in the world.

She nodded enthusiastically, reaching for her milkshake to wash it down. "Amazing. The Wreck never misses."

He grinned, amused as he twirled his pasta around his fork. "I don't get how you eat so much shrimp. You're like a walking advertisement for their seafood."

"Don't act like you're above it," she shot back, pointing at his pasta. "You literally just ordered prawns."

"That's different," he argued, though he didn't really have a defense.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the light from the TV casting a soft glow over the room. Every now and then, Rafe's eyes would drift to Olivine, watching the way she hummed contentedly with every sip of her milkshake or the way she meticulously peeled the paper wrapper from her burger before taking another bite.

"You're staring," she said after a while, her voice teasing but her cheeks flushing faintly under his gaze.

"Can't help it," he said, leaning back into the couch. "You're cute when you're happy."

She froze for a second, caught off guard by the softness in his tone. Then she recovered, rolling her eyes. "Don't get all mushy on me now, Cameron. I'm trying to enjoy my food."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm serious, though. You've got this... thing. Like, I could watch you do literally anything and never get bored."

Olivine pretended to focus on her fries, but the warmth in her chest was impossible to ignore. "Maybe you should focus on your own food before your pasta gets cold," she deflected.

"Fair point," he said with a shrug, but the corner of his mouth twitched, pleased by her flustered reaction.

The drama on the TV shifted into a ridiculous fight scene, but neither of them really paid attention. As Rafe polished off the last of his pasta and Olivine licked some stray milkshake off her straw, she felt herself relax fully for the first time all day.

It wasn't perfect. They weren't perfect. But this—sharing food, throwing playful barbs, stealing glances that meant more than either of them wanted to admit—this felt right.

"Hey," Rafe said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

She glanced at him, her brow lifting in question.

"You're coming to the party tomorrow, right?" he asked, his voice casual, though there was an edge of uncertainty to it.

Olivine hesitated, fiddling with the empty milkshake cup in her hands. "I don't know. Parties aren't really my thing."

"Liv," he said, leaning closer. "It's not about the party. It's about you being there. With me."

Her chest tightened, the sincerity in his eyes almost too much to handle. She wanted to say no, to avoid the chaos that always followed him. But the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing that mattered—made it hard to refuse.

"I'll think about it," she said finally, her voice soft.

Rafe nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Fair enough."

And as the night stretched on, with the half-eaten donuts cooling in the kitchen and the CW drama playing forgotten in the background, they stayed like that—close, comfortable, and just a little bit closer than they were before.

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KIKI SPEAKS ;
semi edited !!

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word count : 2.8k

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