Especially considering how much food he ate.
“One of the last things I did with my trust fund before I lost access to it was to donate almost a million dollars to a zoo that needed to upgrade its giraffe facilities,” I tell him. “Well, that and setting up a trust fund for a video game at my favorite pizza parlor in Athena’s Rest after having it fixed. I know how to make good use of large sums of money. Well, what normal people consider to be large sums of money.”
The bathroom door creaks wider open, showing me that he’s sitting on the edge of the tub, looking at his phone. His brow is wrinkled, but his voice is wary rather than irritated. “The kid at that ValuKart on Sunday is talking about it too.”
“Unless one of them has prodigy-level skills with drawing people and a large internet following to share something likethat, I don’t think you need to worry about being made. But seriously, if you want some ideas of how to do bigger good more anonymously, I can help.”
“We do reverse hold-ups where we go in with masks and throw cash around?”
“That’ll get you arrested for being a public nuisance. It’s the reason I had to leave my second college.”
“I can never tell when you’re serious.”
I’m serious, but despite how much more relaxed he’s seemed this afternoon, I don’t want to push it by annoying him right now. “Do you have any money on gift cards, or just cash?”
“Cash was relatively easy to get.”
“That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“My grandfather used to hoard it,” he mutters.
“He hoarded it.”
“Character quirk.”
“And your parents never thought to put it in a bank after he died?”
“It was pocket change.”
I don’t remember when the hundred-dollar bill was last updated, but I’m relatively certain his grandfather didn’t live long enough to add a significant number of them to his collection. “So you’re carrying around a bunch of old money? Literally old money?”
“Archie’s in banking. He said it’ll be fine.”
“Archie?Archie Westmore?Heknows what you’re doing?”
“He’s not an asshole.”
“He’s the reason—no, wait, let me reprocess this… Yep. Still a little mad, but also it’s funny now.”
“What’s funny?”
“He’s the reason I had to go to third-grade jail. My fatherhatedhis family. And that’s what makes it funny.”
Oliver smiles again.
A real smile.
A friendly smile.
Not a pushover smile, not a manipulative smile, not a reluctant smile, just a normal old smile that makes my heart pitter-patter again.
Freaking heart.
“He didn’t suggest Visa or American Express gift cards?” I say.
“Maybe he’s a little bit of an asshole.”
“He was an absolute asshole in third grade.”
