Page 13 of Faking with Three

I can’t help but chuckle, shaking my head. “You could say that. What brings you to Ethan’s place?” I glance behind her, half-expecting to see Ethan coming up behind her. “I didn’t realize you two were… close.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she grins, catching the implication immediately. “Oh no, it’s not like that. We just ran into each other earlier today. Turns out we’re neighbors.”

“Neighbors?” I echo, still trying to wrap my head around the situation. “You live in this building?”

Olivia nods, stepping back to let me in. “Moved in last week. Needed a change of scenery.” She leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms casually, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—curiosity, maybe, or something a little warmer.

“Small world, indeed,” I say, stepping inside. I look around for Ethan, but the living room is empty, save for the scattered remnants of his usual chaos.

“I guess it’s been a while. You were my mom’s therapist for a good few years, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I was,” I say, feeling a sudden wave of nostalgia and, maybe, a touch of guilt. Her mother had been a complex case, and it had taken everything I had to help her through her grief after the divorce. It didn’t help that her ex-husband passed away shortly after that.

But it feels like a line I shouldn’t cross, not now, not with Olivia standing here in front of me like this—a woman, not a girl I used to know.

“You were a big help to her,” she says softly, almost like an afterthought. “Even if she never said it enough.”

I swallow, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. “Your mom was—is –a strong woman,” I say, meaning every word. “I just helped her see it.”

Olivia looks down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it was more than that. She always said you had a way of getting people to open up. Guess that’s why Ethan wanted you on board with this Love Lab thing.”

I raise an eyebrow, feeling a flicker of amusement despite myself. “Ah, so you know about that disaster already.”

“Oh, I know enough,” she teases. “Ethan was just trying to sell me on the idea when you showed up. Not sure if I’m convinced yet.”

I step into Ethan’s apartment. The place is a mess, as usual—guitar cables snaking across the floor, takeout containers piled high on the kitchen counter. It’s got that faint smell of something burnt, which I assume was Ethan’s attempt at cooking earlier.

She shifts, crossing her arms casually, but there’s a flicker of something behind her eyes, like she’s waiting for me to say something. It’s a bit surreal, this moment—like I’ve been thrown back a decade. The last time I saw her, she was a teenager, barely out of high school, hovering in the corner of her mother’s therapy sessions. She’s different now. Grown up, confident.

“So, Marcus,” she says, breaking the silence with a small, amused smile. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Just surprised,” I say honestly, scratching the back of my neck. “It’s been a long time, Olivia.”

“Liv,” she corrects gently. “Nobody calls me Olivia anymore.”

I nod, taking that in. “Alright. Liv.” It feels strange, saying her name like that. Like I’m talking to someone entirely new.

I glance toward the hallway, wondering where the hell Ethan disappeared to.

“So,” I say, clearing my throat, “Ethan thinks it’s a good idea for you to get involved with the channel?”

Her eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of annoyance there. “You don’t?”

“It’s not that,” I lie, but my hesitation must be obvious. “It’s just… this project isn’t exactly your thing, is it? From what I remember, you were in the city building a tech empire.”

“Do you keep in touch with my mom?” she asks.

“Sometimes she calls me,” I admit.

She nods. “People can change, Marcus.”

“Fair point. But still…”

“Still,” she echoes, her voice softer now, almost serious. “You don’t think I belong here.”

It’s not a question, and I don’t deny it. The truth is, I’m not sure why she’d want to get involved. I mean, she’s got her own company, a whole life built somewhere else. This feels like a detour for her, and detours can be risky.

I open my mouth to respond, but just then, the door swings open again, and Ethan strolls back in, balancing a tray of mugs. “Sorry about that,” he says, grinning like he’s just solved world hunger. “Coffee’s here. Freshly brewed, just like you like it, Marcus.”

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