I picked up the bottom of my gray cotton dress that met my sandaled feet as we walked across a cobblestone street to the other side. It was close to sixty-five degrees today, but I pulled my leather jacket tighter around me when a gust of wind swirled in the air.
“Do you want to stop for coffee?” Ollie asked, noticing the chill. “We’re almost there but there’s a coffee shop around the corner.”
“I’m okay.” I smiled, and he kissed the side of my head.
We made it to the restaurant, which classified as a pub, and found a seat outside under the trellis.
If we had the choice, we sat outside. Ollie didn’t do well in confined spaces with his emotional intensity, and being too close to other people set off his anxiety. This past month, I’d learned more and more about him and how people’s vibes could affect him physically, mentally, and emotionally. After two weeks of being here, we’d both agreed to continue seeing a psychologist, together and separately. It took a few tries to find one we both liked, but we’d finally found one in London from a referral Dr. Conway gave us. She’d searched high and low for someone familiar with Ollie’s hyper-sensitivity and even pre-interviewed the lady over the phone just in case.
I’d confessed openly about my wicked thoughts, the ones of murder, but only to the counselor. I hadn’t told Ollie about my demented dreams of death, and how it had been following me since I’d killed my uncle. Ethan had understood, but would Ollie ever know the sick delusions inside my head? Would he ever understand that a single threat made me want to rip someone apart and watch them bleed out at my feet with a smile on my face? Or how the morbid thoughts kept me up at night while he was gone, and he was the only one who could sooth me with his poetic lullaby?
Ollie stood from his chair as soon as he spotted Travis and Summer, and I followed suit.
“This,” Ollie looked down at me with a smile, “is Mia.”
“It’s about time,” Travis said, pulling me in for a hug. “You know, Mia. I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you.”
“I heard you tried to tell him I was dead. You wanted him to give up on me.”
Travis frowned, shooting a glance over at Ollie. Summer laughed, noticing my sarcasm.
“I like her already,” Summer announced, coming in for a hug of her own.
“You look like you’re about to pop!” I tried hugging her back, but it was awkward with her big belly. “How far along are you?
“Four more bloody weeks. I’m due July 21st, and I’m so ready,” she whined, rubbing over her belly in the flowy paisley-printed blouse hugging her stomach. Summer had golden hair and big, bright blue eyes. Her pale skin glowed against her navy shirt, and she set down her umbrella and took a seat. “Oh, fuck, Oliver. You didn’t!” Summer grabbed my hand and looked at my ring, “You fucking did,” she narrowed her eyes at Travis. “I’m having your baby, you bastard, and Mia already has a ring,” Summer scolded Travis.
“In my defense, I told him to propose almost seven months ago,” Ollie said, holding his palms out in front of him.
Travis shook his head. “Thanks, Oliver. Thanks for that.”
“How did you do it?” Summer asked.
Ollie raised his brows. “Do what?”
“Propose. I love proposal stories.”
Ollie snapped his eyes to me, and I clenched my thighs together at the reminder of me on the piano back at Dolor, and Ollie inside me.
“I’m not giving your chap here any pointers,” he gripped Travis’s shoulder, “He’ll have to come up with his own.”
The evening passed with laughs, drinks, and good food, and after a few hours, we said our goodbyes after promising to get together soon before the baby arrived.
On our way back to our cottage, Ollie pulled me into a shop beside a small bookstore that sold tea, coffee grounds, and bottles of wine with book quotes on the labels. He filled the basket with pastries and grounds and picked out a bottle of rosé wine. “Love is longing for the half of ourselves we have lost, Milan Kundera,” Ollie read. “This is the one. It reminds me of a book I read.”
“PerhapsThe Unbearable Lightness of Being?” I laughed, tapping the label where the title of the book was listed.
“No, another book I read based on soulmates,” he smiled at the memory. “I’ll have to read it to you. After a few glasses of wine.” He shook the bottle and placed it into the basket.
Halfway home, the sky parted and rain broke, and we ran the rest of the way until we reached our gate and crossed our bridge to our front door, drenched. Ollie dropped the bag in the kitchen as I started the bath, plugging the drain and sprinkling in bath salts. I heard his phone from the kitchen, which had been going off all night, but he didn’t answer. It was probably Leigh again, who’d rang nonstop at least once a week and beg for him to come rescue her from situations she’d get herself into. At first, Ollie had left to help her, but after two times, he’d had enough and ignored her calls.
I slipped out of my dress just as Ollie walked into the bathroom, wearing only his boxer-briefs and fedora hat over his head, the bottle of wine in one hand. “Bad news. We’ll have to drink straight from the bottle. I’ll have to remember to get us wine glasses.”
Laughing at his wardrobe, I turned off the water as Ollie set the wine over a wooden stool beside the clawed tub before shimmying out of my black panties and sinking into the water.
“Yes,” he nodded enthusiastically, losing his boxers and following right behind me.
Together, we drank the entire bottle and sat in the hot water as our fingers pruned, Ollie still wearing his fedora, and me making fun of him for it. “But it’s cool,” he explained, grabbing my hips and pulling me over his lap until my sex rubbed over his arousal. I arched my back, dropping my hair into the water, and Ollie’s hands trailed down the center of my chest.
