Liar.
Lana’s Cafe was a five-minute walk from the apartment. Kira and I frequented the cafe often because of the convenience of it being so close.
Slipping on a pair of flats, I gathered my bag, phone, and keys on the way out, and then raced for the stairs. The apartment elevator would have been too slow.
The walk to Lana’s Cafe was usually a leisurely stroll, with Kira and I dreaming of the deliciously mouth-watering treats they had on offer before we got there. This walk however was brisk and uncomfortably warm. The unrelenting heat of the sun, reflecting off the sidewalk, was glaringly bright.
A bead of sweat trickled from my temple. Another down my spine.
I picked up the pace as the cafe came into view on the corner. Its pink umbrellas fluttered in the smallest of breezes while customers stayed cool in the shade, eating ice creams, smoothies, and anything else that could relieve them from the heat.
Oliver was waiting by the door, looking as if he stepped from an airconditioned room. There was no hint on his face that said he found this hot day uncomfortable. Wearing knee-length cream shorts and a light blue button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looked every part the type my parents approved of. Not a tattoo in sight. His honey-blonde hair was tousled but tidy and his hazel eyes bright as he scanned the faces of people passing in the street, looking for me.
I slowed to a less urgent pace and took a breath, pinching the front of my top and fanning myself as I reached the tables. Weaving around the customers and taking the last few seconds to settle my nerves. I got within several feet of him before his eyes came to me. He smiled easily, his eyes lighting up as he took a step closer. My senses were quickly engulfed with what smelt of expensive cologne. A lot of it.
He was just a little taller than me now that we were face-to-face. Standing at roughly 5’9, it was a little easier to look at Oliver compared to my companions from The Den. Standing beside Dean or Seb required a little more neck craning.
“Lily, hi.” His eyes sparkled.
“Sorry, I’m late.”
“I’m just happy you showed.” He gestured to the cafe. Brows lifting in question. “Did you want to eat? Drink?”
I smiled. “I’d love a milkshake.”
It was easy for him to return the expression as he nodded and grinned. “Good choice.”
The little bells above the door rang out as we crossed the threshold into the cool air of the cafe. Oliver led the way up to the counter where we ordered our shakes; vanilla for him, strawberry for me. He paid for both.
We grabbed a booth by the window, sitting across from one another to wait for our drinks. I tapped my fingers lightly on the underside of the table, waiting for the awkward silence to set in but Oliver spoke almost instantly.
“This is a little nicer than talking through a booth window,” he said, smiling easily once again as our drinks arrived. “Do you volunteer for those things often?”
“Sometimes.” I nodded my thanks to the waitress and slid my shake closer. “My mom is usually the one who puts my name down for them though.”
He chuckled. “When you aren’t busy volunteering, how do you usually spend your free time?”
When I’m not patching up injured fighters?
I took a sip of my drink and hummed quietly at the sweet, strawberry taste. “Honestly, not a lot,” I said as I poked the straw around the frothy milk. “I’m kind of a homebody. I usually draw, bake—”
“Read?” he said with a knowing smile.
“Yes, that too.” My ears were heating slightly. “What about you?”
“Well, I’m not much of a reader.” He sipped his milkshake, nodding to himself before he continued. “I guess I’m more the outdoor type.”
I could understand why Mom found Oliver so appealing. Not only because of the impressive credits to his name — the pilot license, his piano skills, and his attendance at Columbia University. He was charming and charismatic. The kind of boy most girls hoped to bring home to their parents because he didn’t seem to have a fault. Even his hair was perfect. It had a natural wave in it. The front curved softly away from his face and the ends curled around the nape of his neck.
I know I should’ve been paying more attention to what he was saying instead of detailing his hair, the slight curve in his nose, or his perfectly white teeth. But it was hard to listen when for the past 27 minutes and 15 seconds of the date (not that I was counting) I knew more about his mother’s students in her ballet class than he probably knew about me.
Oliver liked to talk. Mostly about himself.
At one point he mentioned his job as a waiter at the restaurant we met; a perfect leeway for me to bring up my job as an admin assistant if we were on the topic of work. But he jumped from that topic to the next so quickly, I didn’t have time to respond.
When he wasn’t talking, he would ask if I had ever done any of the things he enjoyed.
Camping? No.
