Page 53 of Breaking Point

“I can definitely picture you at some tiki bar on a honeymoon though. Tropical drink in one hand with a nice tan.”

I snort a laugh at the comment, glancing back to see her smiling, eyes still closed. “I’m surprised you didn’t guess beer.”

I fit the look of a military man. The build, the demeanor, and when you enlist you get used to the taste of beer- warm, cold, whatever you can get your hands on- pretty quickly. But it was never my preference.

“No,” she sighs happily, brows furrowing. “You don’t strike me as a beer kind of guy.”

She’s right, and I don’t know why it startles me so much that she guesses correctly. She’s not supposed to know these things.

“You never drink liquor,” I say suddenly, my hands tightening on the wheel. It’s not quite a question. Maybe an observation.

She never has more than a glass to drink.

She hums quietly. A confirmation. “Not since Mom.” We haven’t talked about her mother’s death, but her panic attack has remained an unspoken reminder between us. “I don’t know why.I like to think it’s the right thing to do. But… logically, I know it’s not any different.”

I remember how long it took not to associate the taste of alcohol with a bad day in the military.

I clear my throat, knowing how it feels. “Drinking… does it make you think of her?”

“Yes.” Her words are quiet, haunted, sad. I can’t help but glance at her.

“Then it’s different.”

Her blue eyes meet mine in the mirror briefly. She looks away first, and I force myself to focus on the road.

“How do you feel about croissants?” she blurts, and at the abruptness, I look at her again.

The vulnerability is gone, replaced by curiosity. “I mean, they didn’t break my heart at seventeen or anything-“

“Shut UP,” she laughs, and my expression cracks. “How do you feel about EATING croissants?”

“Indifferent,” I answer.

She grins, settling back in her seat again. “We’ll see about that.”

It isn’t long before we get back. Olivia stifles another yawn as I hold the door open. Even at her full height in heels, she doesn’t even come up to my chin. As if she notices, she crosses her arms, casually stepping around me.

“Are you too tired for an adventure?” she asks.

I was.

“Not a chance.”

She hums. “You won’t mind sitting with Ricky then?”

If I remember correctly, Ricky is the man posted outside Liv’s apartment. Seems friendly enough. She likes him, but I’d be lying if I said the whole thing didn’t irk me. I can’t find any information on him.

“He’ll be awake?”

She takes off without waiting for my reply. “Usually is.”

Despite wearing heels and a dress, Olivia blends right into the liveliness and the glamor of the market. I’ve lived in Sutton for too long not to know this side of the city existed.

It’s loud and wild and- alive. When she comes to a stop in front of the red stall I vaguely remember from last time, I realize this is a routine.

She asks how he is, he nods, and she orders like she’s done it a thousand times. As the man gathers the pastries, she digs around in her purse. But I slap down a bill before she gets a chance, offering a quick 'thank you' as the man scoots the boxes toward me.

“Hey!” she hollers as I carry them, strolling ahead. “I was paying for that!”

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