Page 107 of Mended Hearts

“Oh my god,I’m right. Alice has said for months there was something going on there.”

“Alice doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“She said thatlittlesuit-daddy has had a thing for you ever since you told offbigsuit-daddy.”

Apparently, Alice had a much bigger mouth than she let on.

“There is nothing small about Ollie,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

“Oh my god!” She slapped my shoulder, ignoring my pointedowas she cackled and kicked her feet in the air.

“You look like a circus seal.” My words only made her laugh harder. “Or a creepy-ass fucking clown.”

“Well done, sissy. I never thought two of us would bag a Hart.”

“I haven’t bagged anything. He’s just… Ollie.” My face flushed at the memory of what ‘just Ollie’ had done to me last night. There was no coming back fromthat. Not ever. “God, I hope he doesn’t hate me.”

“Hate you!? I don’t think he’d be parking his stallion in your barn if he hated you.”

“Hate sex is hot.”

“In books and movies, sure. But you two? No way. That man is so smitten, it’s ridiculous.”

“How would you know?”

“He looks at you like lunch.”

Welp. She had me there. I buried my face in my hands. “You’re the fucking worst.”

“You love me.”

“Debatable.”

“But seriously. How could he hate you whilst churning your butter?”

“Ew. Stop with the food analogies, please.”

“Fine. Just trying to lighten the mood,” she said, rolling her eyes as she stood and reached down to haul me up by the wrists. “Answer the question.”

But I wouldn’t get the chance.

It sounded like someone rammed into the wall—and then a fist slammed on our front door three times in rapid succession.

My hand flew to my chest, heart hammering, as Kaia scowled and marched toward the noise.

I was five paces behind her when she flung open the door to find an uncharacteristically rude Oliver Hart.

“Where is she?”

“Well, hello to you too, suit daddy.”

“Leighton, Kaia.Where is Leighton?”

Kaia gestured in my direction with a dramatic flourish, but Ollie was already moving, his eyes locking on mine before he collided with me, wrapping me up in his arms and crushing me to his chest. His face tucked into my neck like he couldn’t get close enough, his breath ragged.

I barely had time to register the disheveled state of him—his shirt half-buttoned, his hair tousled—before guilt sank sharp teeth into my stomach. I’d left. Just... left him.

I’d always been a solitary processor, but I hadn’t stopped to think about what that would do to him.

---