Ollie blinks hard.
“I’ve discussed your retirement plan with the GM and HR,” Eric adds. “We’ll table that conversation for a couple of weeks. One thing at a time.”
“Okay,” Ollie whispers.
The call winds down. It’s supportive, measured, and professional. When he hangs up, his hand drops to his lap, phone still clutched. He’s shaking.
“You did it,” I say quietly.
He laughs weakly. “Feels like I jumped off a building.”
“You didn’t hit the ground.”
He looks at me, eyes bright. “Thanks for staying.”
“Of course.”
We sit there for a moment, breathing.
“So,” I say gently. “Retirement is really happening.”
He nods slowly. “I’m done chasing stats. I want to build something.”
“The charity.”
“Yeah. Admin. Advocacy. A week a month in person.”
My chest warms. “You’re really serious, huh?”
He meets my eyes. “Completely.”
“Good,” I murmur.
He hesitates, then adds, “And… thank you. For the donation. I never said it properly.”
I look away, uncomfortable with the weight of it. “It mattered.”
“So do you,” he says.
My heart stutters.
The door opens then—Lindy’s voice carrying, Amelia’s laughter, bags rustling. The tension breaks like a spell.
Ollie’s shoulder brushes mine as he stands, a fleeting, electric contact. For a second, the memory of the kiss flashes—heat, urgency, the way he’d felt against me. Possibility hangs in the air.
And this time, it doesn’t feel impossible.
13
OLLIE
The next morningfeels unreal in the quiet, practical way big life changes often do. There’s no dramatic music. No sense of destiny. Just coffee, schedules, and the low hum of a city that doesn’t care that my entire world tipped sideways forty-eight hours ago.
Rafe walks me to the car, but we don’t leave together.
It’s his idea. “Your family doesn’t need to get swallowed into this,” he says, voice firm but not unkind. “We travel separately. Less attention.”
I know he’s right. I hate that he’s right.