“Yes, I do!”
“Thank you.”
Patricia blurted it out, looping her arms around his neck and stealing a quick kiss at the corner of his mouth.
“I swear, after dealing with so many jerks, meeting someone like you almost feels unreal. I haven’t even processed it yet.”
Her compliments always went straight to Mr. Padilla’s heart.
As the bottle of massage oil was set aside, the sound of tissues being pulled from the box filled the room. Oliver slid his arms under her waist and lifted her onto his lap.
“Tired?”
Just one word, and Patricia’s mind went totally blank. Instantly, her thoughts ran wild.
Lately, with her coming home late, he always asked this before anything else happened between them. If she said she was tired, he’d stop right there. If she said she wasn’t, they’d go on. He never liked seeing her run herself ragged over Emerson’s problems, but he always respected her decisions. In Oliver’s words, he’d waited this long—now that everything was almost over, there was no point in getting in her way.
Patricia gazed into his eyes, feeling like she was diving headfirst into a whirlpool of longing. She was already lost before anything even started.
“I’m not tired.”
Late July in Riverdale was the hottest time of year. Summer dragged on forever, with cicadas and birds singing nonstop and heat waves making the air shimmer. It was the kind of heat that made you dizzy and melted away your common sense.
By the time they finished, it was already well past midnight.
Sometimes Patricia wondered, thinking back to those years right after they got their marriage license—when she was living in Toronto—was Oliver really living like a saint back then? He’d never cared about the usual things—money, fame, status. He’d had those things from the start and just didn’t care. Food didn’t interest him either.
But when it came to her… he was a completely different man.


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