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Noah’s room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the nightlight Olivia bought him when monsters under the bed were still his biggest worry. She stands by his bookshelf, thumbing through worn covers.
“I brushed my teeth,” Noah announces, climbing into bed.
“You flossed?” she asks, without looking up.
“Yeah.”
Olivia huffs a quiet, disbelieving scoff. “That’s a lie.”
“Mom,” he groans, “what are you doing?”
She lifts a stack of books. “Just getting rid of some of these old ones. We really need to give them away.”
“I don’t want to. I like ’em.”
One brow arches. “You like them? Okay. Want me to read you ‘Little Red Riding Hood’? Because I’ll do it right now.”
He immediately caves. “Nah, that’s okay.”
“That’s what I thought.” Olivia moves toward the doorway, the familiar ache tugging at her ribs—Noah growing older, the past clawing closer. “We’ll go through the rest of this stuff tomorrow, okay? Sleep. Good night. Love you.”
She’s halfway into the hall when—“Mom?”
She stops. Turns. “Yeah?”
Whatever she expected, it isn’t the question that falls out of her son’s mouth. “Whatever happened to that girl? The one that got kidnapped at little Nicky’s baptism. Maddie.”
Her breath stalls. “How did you hear about her?”
“I Googled you.”
There’s a beat—shock, then a fragile smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You Googled me.”
“Yeah.”
“Well… what’d you find?”
“Just stuff. Is Maddie gonna be okay?”
Olivia swallows. Her voice gentles. “She’s home with her family. They’re taking good care of her.”
“And the guy who kidnapped her—he’s going to prison, right?”
“Yes, Noah. That’s the plan.” She shifts, the hallway suddenly too bright, too narrow. “Honey, you need to sleep. You don’t need to think about these things.”
But he isn’t done. “Mom?”
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“Why are there so many bad guys in the world?”
Her spine goes rigid. The air weighs more.
“So… you found some other articles about me.”
“Only what was on the first page.”
Silence presses in, thick and trembling.
“And what’d you find?” she asks, barely breathing.
“An article about William Lewis.”
The name hits her like ice water down the back of her neck.
“And Johnny D.” Noah’s voice is small. “He’s a bad guy, right?”
Olivia’s throat burns. “Yes. I mean—he was. He’s dead now.” Her gaze drifts to the closet down the hall—the one she keeps locked for a reason. “How did you even find these? Did you go poking through my private boxes in the closet?”
“Are you mad?”
“It’s an invasion of privacy,” she says gently, stepping into his room because she can’t stand the distance. “I really wish you would’ve asked.” Her tone softens. “But… I understand you have big questions. Important ones. And we’re going to talk about all of them.” She cups his cheek. “But my job is to decide when. And this—this isn’t how we do it.”
Noah’s lower lip trembles. “Is it really that scary?”
“It’s not scary,” she lies, because she has to—because the truth would crush them both. “It’s just… complicated.”
For a moment he just looks at her. Really looks. And then—in a tiny voice: “I think I’d like you to read me that story.”
Relief flickers through her chest. “Oh, I can do that.” She slips into bed beside him, taking the book he hands her. “Scoot over. Turn your light on, honey.”
He settles against her shoulder. She begins.
“Once upon a time, there lived a country girl, the prettiest creature ever seen…” Her voice barely wavers, though her hands still shake.
When she finishes, Noah blinks up at her. “Was that a happy ending?”
Olivia closes the book slowly. “You know, Noah… sometimes I’m not so sure.”
“I’m never going in that closet again,” he promises.
She brushes his hair back. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Good night. Love you.”
“I love you too.”
She slips out of his room on quiet feet, pulling the door until it clicks shut. And only then—only when she’s alone in the hallway, spine pressed to the wall—does the tremor hit her. The memories. The names. The things she never meant for him to find. She closes Noah’s door with careful fingers, letting it click shut so quietly it barely disturbs the air. But the second it does, the silence hits her like recoil.
Olivia exhales—sharp, uneven. The hallway seems narrower than it did an hour ago. She presses her back to the wall. Just stands there. Breath shuddering in and out of her chest like something caught in the gears.
Lewis. Johnny D. Words she never says out loud anymore. Words she buried beneath years of therapy, cases, motherhood, survival. But hearing them from Noah’s mouth… that was a different kind of violence altogether.
Her eyes drift toward the closet down the hall. The one she shouldn’t have kept in this apartment but never had the heart to empty. A museum of the things she never wanted to remember, and never could forget.
She scrubs a hand over her face. Her palm comes away cold. She wants to be steady right now. For him. For herself. Instead, her knees nearly give out when she pushes off the wall and walks toward the kitchen. She needs water. Air. Something.
She turns on the sink and braces both hands on the counter, head bowed, breath fogging the stainless steel. Her heartbeat is loud in her ears—too loud, too familiar.
He’s dead. It’s over.
She repeats it in her mind like she used to in the middle of the night, after nightmares, after hearings in courtrooms. But tonight, her armor cracked. Not in front of a perp or a camera or the squad. In front of her kid. The vulnerability burns hotter than any bruised memory.
She straightens slowly. Forces herself to sip water. Forces herself to breathe through her nose, out her mouth. She practiced this so many times with Dr. Lindstrom it should be muscle memory. And yet, a tear she didn’t know she was holding slides down her cheek. Olivia wipes it with her wrist and laughs softly—the smallest, most exhausted exhale.
“Get it together, Benson,” she whispers.
But she’s alone now. And she doesn’t have to pretend. She leans against the counter, eyes closing for one heartbeat… then two.
A soft breeze nudges the curtains in the living room. The apartment is quiet, safe, dim—everything she has fought tooth and bone to build. Still, her chest aches in that old familiar place. The one she thought had healed.
Olivia stands in the kitchen, water glass half-empty on the counter, the ache in her chest settling into something sharp and heavy. The apartment is too quiet. Her thoughts were too loud.
Five months into the healthiest relationship she’s had in years—since Ed, truthfully—and she can’t shake the instinct to weather the storm alone. Muscle memory. Trauma response. Whatever it is, it holds tight. She presses her palms to the countertop. Tries to steady her breathing.
Noah’s voice echoes faintly in her head: “An article about William Lewis… and Johnny D.”
She wants to scream. Cry. Run. Instead, she breathes—slow, careful, practiced. For a moment, she lets herself imagine Alex’s voice, low and steady in her ear, saying what she said the first time Olivia broke down in her arms years ago: “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself. Not with me.”
But Alex isn’t here. She’s working late—now as the EADA for Family Court, finally settling her own restless soul. Olivia should be happy about that. Proud. She is.
Just… tonight hurts.
She rubs her sternum with the heel of her hand, grounding herself the way she always had. A mindless motion Alex had mentioned she tended to make when she was anxious.
It was easier when Alex was the one holding her.
Her phone buzzes faintly on the counter, but she doesn’t move to check it. Her reflection in the microwave door looks exhausted. Wilted. This is not the version of herself she wants anyone—especially Alex—to walk in on.
She turns off the kitchen light, trying to breathe past the pressure in her chest. She reminds herself she’s safe. Noah is safe.
Johnny D is dead. Lewis is dead. She survived.
She’s repeating the mantra again when a soft, familiar knock breaks through the silence. Three gentle taps. Alex’s knock. The one Olivia could recognize in her sleep.
Olivia freezes. She isn’t ready. But Alex is here anyway, exactly when she needs her. A steadiness she hadn’t felt in years.
For half a second, instinct tells her to pull herself together. Straighten up. Wipe her face. Pretend everything’s fine. But she doesn’t move. She can’t.
Another soft knock. A quiet, “Liv?” through the door—just loud enough for Olivia to hear if she’s standing close, soft enough that Noah never will.
Olivia forces her legs to move. Her fingers shake as she unlocks the deadbolt. She hopes Alex won’t notice. Alex always notices. She pulls the door open.
Alex stands there, hair slightly wind-tousled from the chilly night air, blazer still on from court, a paper bag of takeout hooked in one hand. The warm smell of sesame and ginger drifts into the apartment with her. She smiles—bright, tired, real.
“Hey,” Alex says softly. “I brought dinner. You texted that you hadn’t eaten and I—" She stops. Because Olivia isn’t smiling. Because Olivia isn’t anything. Alex’s face shifts instantly—concern slipping in at the edges, her posture tilting forward in that subtle way she does when she senses Olivia’s hurting. “Liv,” she murmurs, voice dropping. “What happened?”
Olivia swallows. Her throat is sandpaper. She didn’t think she’d say anything tonight—not yet, not like this. She thought she could get herself under control before letting Alex see her. But the moment Alex steps inside, the moment the door clicks shut behind them, the thin thread holding Olivia together snaps.
She doesn’t cry. Not yet. She just… exhales. Unsteady. Like her lungs finally gave up pretending.
Alex sets the takeout on the entryway table without even looking. Her attention is entirely on Olivia.
She steps closer—slowly, giving Olivia a chance to pull back. She never assumes. Not with Liv. When Olivia doesn’t move, Alex gently lifts a hand and brushes her thumb along Olivia’s cheekbone, slow and featherlight.
“Hey,” she whispers. “You’re shaking.”
Olivia closes her eyes. A quiet, broken sound leaves her throat—more breath than voice. Alex takes her in her arms immediately.
Not crushing, not overwhelming—just a firm, steady hold around Olivia’s ribs, like she’s grounding her to the earth. Olivia melts into it, forehead pressing into Alex’s shoulder, her hands finding the lapels of Alex’s blazer and holding on.
Alex’s voice slips through Olivia’s hair. “I’m here. Whatever it is, I’m here.”
Olivia’s breath trembles again. Her fingers tighten. “Noah…” she manages, barely above a whisper. “He… he found things.”
Alex doesn’t rush her. Doesn’t stiffen. Just smooths a hand down Olivia’s back, slow and steady, tracing the path of her spine like she’s done a thousand times across twenty years of almosts and maybes.
“What things?” Alex asks softly.
Olivia’s voice breaks. “Lewis. Johnny D. He found articles.”
Alex’s heart cracks—but she doesn’t react with shock or panic. She just breathes out slowly, her own eyes stinging because she knows exactly what those names do to Olivia’s body, her breath, her nights.
“Oh, Liv,” she whispers, tightening her hold. “Come here.”
She guides Olivia deeper into the apartment, away from the front door, away from the draft, away from the world. Olivia goes willingly this time.
Alex maneuvers them toward the couch—not pulling, not rushing—just guiding, her hand warm and unwavering at the small of Olivia’s back. Olivia’s breathing stutters the entire way there. They sink down together, Olivia folding into the corner cushion like her bones are too tired to hold her upright anymore. Alex stays close without crowding, knees nearly touching, her body angled toward Olivia with open, patient awareness.
“Hey,” Alex murmurs, brushing a thumb along the inside of Olivia’s wrist. “Slow down. Breathe with me.”
Olivia tries. She really does. Her chest rises but barely falls, the inhale catching. Alex lifts her hand and presses it gently against Olivia’s sternum, right over the frantic thrum beneath her ribs. “Here,” she whispers. “Match me.”
Alex inhales—slow, deep, steady. Olivia mirrors it, shaky but trying. Alex exhales—soft and controlled. Olivia’s breath trembles loose.
A few more, and Olivia’s shoulders drop half an inch. Her eyes blink open, still glassy. Alex’s heart twists at the sight.
“Talk to me,” Alex says softly. “If you want to.”
Olivia drags a hand over her face. She looks exhausted in a way Alex hasn’t seen since in a while—tired down to the marrow.
“He was Googling me,” Olivia finally says. “He found an article about Maddie and—” Her voice cracks. She looks away. “And about Lewis… Johnny D, too.”
Alex doesn’t flinch at the names. Doesn’t react with the tension or the fury she feels in her bones on Olivia’s behalf. She stays steady. Warm palm sliding carefully to Olivia’s knee.
“Of course he’s curious,” Alex says gently. “He loves you. And kids… kids go looking for answers when they don’t know what questions to ask.”
Olivia’s jaw tightens. “He’s ten, Alex.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want him carrying that darkness. Not yet.” Her breath hitches. “Not ever, if I could help it.”
Alex shifts closer—not touching more, but making her presence impossible to miss. “You didn’t fail him.” Her voice is low. Firm. “Finding that article doesn’t mean you failed as a mother.”
Olivia shakes her head, a helpless sound slipping out. “He asked if it was really that scary. And I—God, Alex—I lied.”
Alex’s expression softens. “What did you say?”
“That it was complicated.” Olivia wraps her arms around herself. “He looked at me like he knew I was lying to him.”
“Liv…” Alex brushes a stray tear from Olivia’s cheek, slow and tender. “Protecting him isn’t lying. It’s parenting.”
Olivia lets out a broken laugh. “You always know exactly what to say.”
Alex smiles, small and almost sad. “Only with you.”
There’s silence for a moment. Olivia leans back, eyes closing again—not dissociating, not shutting down. Just… letting herself exist in the quiet. Alex watches her with a tenderness forged over decades—through separations, returns, heartbreaks, and every almost in between. She reaches out and threads their fingers together. Olivia squeezes back instantly.
“I’m here,” Alex whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Olivia’s voice is barely audible. “You always leave.”
Alex’s breath catches—soft, wounded. She shifts, turning fully toward Olivia, knees touching now. “Not this time.”
Olivia keeps her eyes closed, jaw trembling. “You’ve said that before.”
“I know.” Alex’s thumb strokes the back of Olivia’s hand. “And this is the last time I’ll ever have to say it.”
Olivia finally opens her eyes. They’re wet. Wide. Vulnerable in a way she never lets anyone see. Alex meets that gaze head-on—steady, grounding.
“You asked me once,” she says quietly, “to stop running from the people who love me.” She squeezes Olivia’s hand. “I’m choosing you. Over everything. This time for good.”
Olivia’s breath stutters. Her shoulders shake once—sharp and uncontrolled—and she leans into Alex’s shoulder like she needs somewhere safe to fall.
Alex wraps an arm around her, pulling her in close, letting Olivia tuck her face against her neck. Olivia’s breath ghosts warm against her skin.
“You’re safe,” Alex murmurs into her hair. “Noah’s safe. This is just a conversation you’ll have when he’s ready. And you won’t have to do it alone.”
Olivia closes her eyes again. This time, the tears fell freely. Alex holds her tighter. Because after twenty years of almosts, this—this quiet, steady holding—is the thing Olivia never had and always needed.
Olivia stays tucked against Alex for another long moment. Her heartbeat has steadied. Her breathing is no longer breaking in little painful stutters. She’s not okay, not fully, but she’s grounded.
Alex presses a kiss to her temple—light, quick, almost imperceptible.
“Liv,” she murmurs, voice warm, “you haven’t eaten. And I know you. If I don’t make you eat now, you’ll forget entirely.”
Olivia lets out a half-laugh against Alex’s shoulder. “You sound like Fin.”
“I’m prettier than Fin,” Alex deadpans.
“Debatable.”
Alex pulls back just enough to level her with the look—the patented Cabot lawyer stare she saves for hostile witnesses… and Elliot.
“Oh really?”
Olivia’s lips twitch. “I mean, he does have excellent cheekbones.”
Alex gasps dramatically, one hand to her chest. “You’re comparing me to Otafin Tutuola right now? In our living room?”
Olivia sniffs, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Technically it’s my living room.”
Alex nudges her knee. “Semantics.”
The corner of Olivia’s mouth lifts—small, but real. The first piece of light she’s managed all night. Alex sees it. And melts.
“Come on,” Alex says gently, brushing Olivia’s hair back. “I got your favorite—sesame noodles and the dumplings you inhale when no one’s watching.”
Olivia groans. “You’re never supposed to comment on the dumplings.”
“I’m your girlfriend,” Alex says, smug. “I get to comment on the dumplings.”
“That’s not in the handbook.”
“Well,” Alex leans in, her voice dropping just slightly, “then I guess you’ll have to punish me.”
Olivia chokes on an involuntary laugh. “Alexandra Rose Cabot.”
“What?” Alex widens her eyes innocently. “I meant you could revoke my takeout-ordering privileges.”
“Uh-huh.”
Alex slides off the couch with a smug little smile and offers Olivia her hand. “Come on, Captain. Let me feed you before you pass out on me.”
Olivia takes her hand—not because she needs the help standing, but because it feels good. Right. Safe. Alex pulls her up easily, thumb brushing along the inside of Olivia’s palm in a way that says I’m here without making a big show of it.
They settle at the kitchen island. Alex unpacks the bags with practiced familiarity, already opening containers, fishing out napkins, finding chopsticks from the drawer without asking. Olivia watches her for a moment. Soft. Adoring.
“You worked late tonight?” Olivia asks, poking at her noodles.
“Yeah,” Alex says. “Family court docket was a mess. I had to rewrite two briefs because an ADA thought ‘child safety considerations’ could be based on ‘vibes.’”
Olivia huffs a real laugh. “Only you could say that sentence.”
“Only I would have to fix it,” Alex replies, rolling her eyes before she looks back at Olivia knowingly. “And only I would swing by my girlfriend’s apartment afterward because she definitely hadn’t eaten dinner.”
Olivia blushes slightly, stabbing a dumpling. “I would’ve ordered something.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Eventually.”
“Uh-huh.”
They eat in a comfortable quiet for a moment. Alex keeps glancing up at Olivia—not hovering, just checking in.
Olivia catches her once. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” Alex says, way too innocent.
“Looking at me like I’m going to shatter.”
Alex softens. “I’m looking at you like I love you.”
A beat passed, they had yet to exchange those words again. Possibly the heaviest eight letters. Alex smoothly adds, “I do… love you, by the way.”
Olivia freezes. Swallows hard. Heat rises behind her eyes again—not from panic this time, but something gentler. Something grounding.
“I love you too,” she says quietly.
Alex’s smile is small and reverent. “Good. Then finish your dumplings.”
“Bossy.”
“Eat.”
“Cabot.”
“Benson.”
The banter, the warmth, the food—it all settles into Olivia’s body. She didn’t realize she needed this so badly.
When she finally finishes eating, Alex gently nudges her thigh under the table. “Feeling a little better?” Alex asks.
Olivia nods. “Yeah. Because you’re here.”
Alex’s expression softens, her voice lowering into that tone she only ever uses for Olivia.
“I’m always here, Liv. Even when your past tries to crawl out of the damn closet.”
Olivia snorts. “It did… literally.”
“Then we’ll burn the closet.”
“Al—”
“Kidding.” A beat. “Mostly.”
Olivia laughs—really laughs this time. And Alex looks at her like she hung the moon.
They clean up slowly, lazily, like neither of them really want to break the quiet hum that’s settled over the apartment. Olivia moves on muscle memory alone, rinsing containers, wiping the counter, turning off the kitchen light.
Alex watches her for a moment—hands in the pockets of her hoodie that she stole. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. When Olivia finally turns toward the hallway, Alex steps close enough that their fingers brush. Olivia catches that hand automatically, weaving their fingers together. They walk to the bedroom like that.
Inside, the room is dim except for the soft glow of the lamp on Olivia’s nightstand. Her bed is unmade from the start of the evening—Noah had climbed in earlier to show her a drawing, and she’d never straightened it.
Alex takes in the sight and smiles. “Looks cozy.”
Olivia snorts. “It looks like a tornado.”
“A cozy tornado,” Alex corrects, gently slipping off Olivia’s hoodie and draping it over the chair.
Olivia sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing at the tension in her neck. Alex kneels in front of her without hesitation, without making a show of it—just slides into the space between Olivia’s knees like she belongs there.
Her hands come up to rest on Olivia’s thighs. “Hey,” Alex says quietly. “Look at me.”
Olivia does.
Alex lifts a hand to Olivia’s cheek, her thumb stroking the faint outline of dried tears. “You were so strong tonight,” Alex whispers. “Even when it hurt to be.”
Olivia’s throat tightens. “I didn’t feel strong.”
“You were. But let me be strong for you now.” Alex kisses her knee softly, reverently. “Just for the rest of the night.”
Olivia exhales shakily. “I don’t want to fall apart on you.”
Alex’s smile is small, tender, devastating in its sincerity. “Baby… I’m not afraid to catch you.”
Olivia’s breath catches.
Alex stands, guiding Olivia up with her, and they move onto the bed.
Olivia lies on her side automatically and Alex slips in behind her, sliding an arm around Olivia’s waist, pulling her into the warm curve of her body. Olivia melts into her like she’s been holding herself upright all day.
Alex presses a kiss to the back of Olivia’s shoulder. “You did everything right.”
Olivia’s voice is soft, tired. “I should’ve handled it better.”
“You handled it the best you could.” Another kiss. “And he’ll understand that one day.”
Olivia’s fingers curl around Alex’s forearm. “I hate that he found that part of me.”
Alex rests her forehead against the nape of Olivia’s neck. Her lips graze the skin as she speaks. “That part of you survived Hell. That part of you built a life out of ash.” She squeezes Olivia gently. “Noah didn’t find something ugly, Liv. He found something resilient.”
Olivia’s eyes sting again, but the tears don’t fall this time—they settle, warm and human.
Alex’s voice drops, a whisper made for the dark and nothing else. “You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever known.”
A kiss to her shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.” Another kiss, lower. “I love the way you protect him.” And another. “I love the way you love.” A final kiss to her lips, slow and lingering. “And I love you. More than I ever expected to love anyone.”
Olivia lets out a quiet, trembling breath. “Alex…”
“Shh.” Alex nuzzles into her hair. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Olivia threads their fingers together beneath the blankets. “Stay tonight?” she asks, barely above a whisper.
Alex slides even closer, pulling Olivia back into her chest. “I was never leaving.”
Olivia’s body finally relaxes—fully, completely, like she’s exhaling the entire day out of her bones.
“I love you all the same,” Olivia whispers.
Olivia wakes to the faint sound of clattering plates and a quiet hum—not the apartment’s usual morning stillness, but something warmer. Softer. Alive.
Her hand reaches instinctively across the bed. Empty. Her body jolts upright before her mind catches up. Alex is gone. Noah—school—fuck, she overslept. Her heart kicks once, hard. And then she hears it.
“Have a good day, sweetheart,” Alex’s voice floats down the hall—smooth, warm, the gentlest morning cadence Olivia’s ever heard from her. “Text me when you get on the bus, okay?”
“Okay,” Noah chirps.
Olivia feels her entire chest unclench. She sinks back into the pillows, one hand covering her heart as it slowly remembers how to beat normally.
The apartment is full of small domestic sounds—the front door opening, closing, Alex calling a “Love you!” after Noah, the thump of his backpack bouncing as he runs downstairs. Olivia smiles into her sheets. Then the apartment quiets. Footsteps pad softly down the hallway.
Alex appears in the doorway, framed by the morning light, wearing one of Olivia’s NYPD t-shirts and a pair of soft pajama shorts. Her hair is pulled back in a lazy bun, two strands falling around her face in a way that Olivia will later insist is intentional weaponry.
In her hands: two steaming mugs of coffee. On her face: a slow, seductive, morning-soft smile that melts every last one of Olivia’s lingering anxieties.
“Well,” Alex says, leaning on the doorframe, voice low like she’s approaching prey. “Look who decided to wake up.”
Olivia groans, embarrassed and charmed and undone all at once. “I overslept. I thought—”
Alex walks in, smirking. “You thought you left a ten-year-old unattended? Please. I’ve argued federal injunctions. I can handle french toast sticks and a backpack.”
She sets both mugs on the nightstand and climbs back into bed, sliding beside Olivia with a confidence reserved for women who know they are wanted.
“You okay?” Alex whispers, brushing Olivia’s hair off her forehead.
Olivia exhales shakily. “I… panicked for a second.”
Alex’s smile softens. She curls a hand around Olivia’s jaw, thumb tracing slow circles on her cheek the way she does when she wants Olivia to feel safe, not just hear that she is. “I know,” she murmurs. “I could tell from the way you gasped like you were being ambushed by the Bureau of Oversleeping.”
Olivia snorts. “That’s not a thing.”
Alex leans in. “It should be. You’d be their Most Wanted.”
Olivia smacks her lightly with a pillow. Alex catches it easily, laughing under her breath.
Then Alex’s voice falls back into that soothing morning murmur, the one that wraps around Olivia like a blanket. “I’ve got everything handled, Liv. Noah’s on his way to the bus. He ate breakfast. He brushed his teeth. He even wore matching socks.”
Olivia raises an eyebrow. “You got him to wear matching socks?”
Alex kisses her cheek. “I’m magic.”
“Arrogant.”
“Confident,” Alex corrects.
Olivia sighs, the last of her adrenaline melting away. “Thank you.”
Alex cups her face again, pressing their foreheads together. “Of course. You needed sleep after last night.”
Olivia closes her eyes. “You didn’t have to… do all that.”
“I wanted to,” Alex says simply. “And I’ll do it again tomorrow if you need me to.”
Olivia swallows, overwhelmed by the gentleness, the steadiness, the sheer devotion in Alex’s voice.
Alex pulls back just enough to look at her with a slow, warm, devastating smile. “Now,” she murmurs, picking up one of the mugs and handing it over, “drink your coffee before it cools.”
Olivia takes it, fingers brushing Alex’s, heart thudding in her chest.
“And then,” Alex adds, letting her thumb slide over Olivia’s wrist in a way that is both innocent and absolutely not, “I might let you thank me properly.”
Olivia almost chokes on her sip.