Twenty-four hours later, Oliver was on his own.
“So you don’t have a background in nutrition?” the woman asked again.
Oliver blinked back to the present. He did his best to cover with a charming smile. “No, I don’t. But I do have a law degree, so trust me when I say that I’m not going to do anything that might get me sued.”
He expected a laugh at that, but the room was quiet. The pause was almost as long as the moment he’d walked into the boardroom, seen Cooper’s face, and known something had gone very wrong.
“Why don’t you work with one of the nutritionists in town?”
He’d tried that. Not that Seacroft was overrun with nutritionists and dieticians, but in the fall, he’d reached out to a number of local people to see if they would be interested in partnering with him in launching the business. The response had been either resounding silence or a polite no.
“How many of your ingredients come from local farmers?”
This line of questioning was wandering outside of the scope of things he’d planned to talk about.
“Currently not a lot. We’re just coming into the growing season, so up until now, there hasn’t been the opportunity to use local produce. But I’m at the farmer’s market every weekend, and hopefully some of the farmers there will be interested in working with us.”
Us.So many of these speeches had been rehearsed, or at least planned out, when Cooper had been part of the picture too.
“Is it true that a cucumber cures hangovers?”
Oliver’s gaze swung around to the speaker. Seb, standing at the back of the room, looked smug. Oliver could have kissed him.
“Thatis an excellent question.”
The workshop wrapped up on time. The three women Oliver didn’t know and who hadn’t seemed all that impressed with his answers to their questions left after a few polite goodbyes. At least Avery signed up for coaching on the spot. Oliver wasn’t convinced the kid understood what he was looking for, since he kept talking about “getting healthier” over and over, but a quick sale after the workshop was good, so they’d figure the rest out later.
“Thanks for inviting us,” Martin said, once Avery headed out. “That was very interesting.”
“I appreciate the moral support.” And the body count. The group of six was small. Four would have been depressing.
“So cucumbers really do cure hangovers?” Seb asked.
“About as much as anything does.”
* * *
When Oliver got home, he couldn’t sit still. Too early to go to bed and too late to start anything new. He fidgeted. Nights like these, when he’d been busy all day but was alone in the house at the end of it, were the hardest. He was still used to Cooper’s company: to debrief on the day’s happenings, to strategize their next steps, or, God, to have sex with, even if neither of them really felt like it, to pass the time. Not exactly glamorous, but when you’d been with the same person for a decade, every roll in the sheets didn't leave you seeing stars.
His eye caught the white sheet of paper sitting on the coffee table. His test results. Negative. Nothing to worry about, no difficult conversations to have with Nick.
Oliver’s hand shook as he fumbled out a text message.
Hey, Pretty Girl, you busy?
The reply was surprisingly quick, as if Nick had been expecting him.
I asked you not to call me that.
Oliver hadn’t been able to help himself. Seb inherited the largest shit-disturber gene in their family, but sometimes Oliver liked to play too.
Sorry. What are you doing tonight?
Another quick reply.I have to work in a couple hours.
Oh. Oliver hadn’t considered that. His no-strings pitch had seemed solid, but he hadn’t accounted for literally working opposite schedules.
Another message came through.
