Nick picked the restaurant, but that was beside the point. Oliver generally wouldn’t eat the potatoes either, but after Seb had given him a hard time about brunch the previous weekend, he was trying not to come off as too fussy. He was already breaking rules with the wine. Next he’d be jonesing for a cigarette, and it would be all downhill from there.
“Watching my girlish figure.” He grinned. Nick grunted but gave him that once-over again—slower this time—lingering on a spot above Oliver’s eyes for a moment too long. Oliver ran a hand over his tied-back hair and watched Nick’s attention follow it.
Interesting.
“Your hair is long.” Nick’s expression was confused.
“Is that a problem?” Growing it out hadn’t quite been intentional, not at first. He’d been so busy after he’d moved to town, a haircut was barely on his priority list. And then, when Seb started teasing him about getting shaggy, Oliver let it keep growing to annoy his brother. By the time he’d finally thought about actually cutting it, the sides started to cover his ears, and he figured he’d see how long it could go before it bugged him.
So far, it hadn’t.
“No, I mean... “ Nick cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. He might even be blushing, though the restaurant’s lighting made it hard to tell. Nick hissed through his front teeth. “Shit. I looked you up. This afternoon. Online. Your hair was shorter in the pictures I saw.”
Now Oliver had to smile. With some of Nick’s anger gone, he looked awkward, nervous almost. Like a big man sitting on a child’s chair and trying to be cool about it.
He wasn’t without resources, though, if he’d found Oliver online. Since opening his shop, he’d hardly bothered to check into most of his accounts. He’d posted a few “fuck you” photos from his vacation on Thanksgiving last year, in case Cooper was watching, and then hadn’t thought about it much since. Despite all the promises to keep in touch since he’d left the firm, he hadn’t heard from most of his former colleagues. He received emails from time to time, and the usual barrage of happy birthday messages when everyone got their automated social media reminders, but aside from that, things had been quiet.
But he’d left that world behind, so losing those connections was expected. They didn’t understand what he was doing now, and he didn’t know how to talk to them, especially when the answer to “How’s everything going?” was a half-hearted “Yeah, not bad.”
He stuffed that thought away. He was here, with this surly not-a-firefighter, who had a temper hiding an awkward core of vulnerability. Time to focus on that.
Oliver ran a hand over his beard, surprised when Nick’s gaze followed the movement again. Did he even know he was doing it? Oliver let the tip of his tongue run along the edge of his lip for a moment, and Nick’s eyes widened.
Sometimes the littlest gestures were the most important.
Oliver leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the table, and grinned when Nick’s posture mirrored his.
“So,” he said, “what do you do for fun around here?”
4
Nick’s throat went dry at Oliver’s question.
That smile. Oliver’s smile would kill him. It made Nick want all kinds of things. All kinds of fun. And more than a ham sandwich too.
Brian would be proud.
“I don’t know. What do you like to do?”
Oliver pursed his lips, then tugged at an earlobe. All that succeeded in doing was dragging Nick’s attention back up to Oliver’s hair. Nick was glad Oliver had let his hair grow. He'd have something to run his hands through when—
He coughed. He was supposed to be mad at the jerk, not fantasizing about him from across the table. When Oliver had grabbed his wrist, he’d nearly decked him, but he really did seem sorry about the whole incident with the car.
“It’s been a while since I had fun.” Oliver was grinning again. Nick reached for his wine. “I’ve been so busy starting my business, I don’t have a lot of free time.”
It still sounded like he wasn’t talking about joining a bowling league. Nick had another drink. “What’s your business?”
The smile spread. Nick heated under his collar. “Turnip farming.”
“Turnip—oh.” Nick wouldn’t apologize for that. Not yet. “But what is it really?”
“I opened a wellness and healthy eating lab on Front Street.”
“Does your lab say you can’t eat pasta?”
Oliver ran his broad hands down his chest and stomach. “I try to limit my carbs. There are some pretty good whole grain pastas, but they wouldn’t serve them in a place like this.”
A place like this. Oliver probably thought Angelo’s was beneath him. Nick helped himself to more wine and motioned to Oliver, who smiled and held his glass out. Well, at least he’d gotten that part right. Nick wasn’t much of a wine drinker. He generally preferred beer, but ordering a Bud to go with his pasta felt unsophisticated. The wine wasn’t even that bad. Bitter but sweet, and cool on his tongue.
