“Good night, Ollie,” he mocks my voice and pushes on my head as if I were a puppet. “Good night, sexy, I mean Kat,” he says, doing the same for Ollie, then pushes our faces together until our lips collide.
Ollie laughs, pushing Vince out of the way and taking over the kiss. My stomach swoops, the world narrowing to the softness of Ollie’s kiss. Her hand comes up to cradle my jaw, her thumb stroking my cheekbone as her tongue explores my mouth.
She takes a step back, looks at Vince, and raises her eyebrows.
“Sweet Dreams,” Vince says, smiling over the rim of his mug.
“Careful what you wish for,” Ollie says, walking backwards. “I’ll just be dreaming about your girlfriend’s pussy.”
Vince chokes on his tea, slamming his fist against his chest as he coughs. “Jesus Christ, you two are going to kill me.”
Ollie’s smirk is pure triumph as she watches him cough. She shoots me a final, blazing look, her smile softening into something private. Then she winks, turns on her heel, and disappears up the creaking wooden stairs to her room.
The heat in my cheeks is immediate and undeniable. Vince watches me, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“So,” he says, leaning back against the counter. “You had a good day, then?” His tone is light, but his eyes hold a knowing clarity that steals my breath.
I busy myself with gathering the last of the dishes from the table.
“It was very…informative,” I admit, not knowing how else to describe it.
He barks a laugh, short and genuine. He takes the dishes from my hands and sets them in the sink. His closeness is a calm, steady pressure. “So, how was she?”
The directness is a shock, a gentle dismantling of my careful posture. I look up at him, at the quiet acceptance in his face. “I still can't believe it actually happened. She’s incredible.”
“I’m glad.” He says it simply. “I’m glad she has you.”
There’s a reverence there, a depth that pulls the real question up from my chest. “Vince, how do you feel about her?”
He stills, his gaze drifting toward the empty staircase. A long silence stretches, filled only with the drip of the faucet. He runs a hand through his hair, a frustrated, tender gesture. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth, dummy. You’ve been so supportive these past few days, I want to know how you really feel.”
He exhales, a rough sound. “I’ve watched her burn through people and ideas and moods, and it’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever had to witness.”
He lifts his mug, stares into it like the tea leaves might spell out an answer. “All I know is I can’t lose her.”
“You won’t lose her,” I say, but it sounds small.
“You don’t know that.” He sets the mug down with a definitive tap.
“You’re right, I don’t know for sure, but it sounds to me like you’ve wanted her for a long time. Maybe it's time you stop pretending you don’t.”
“And what? Act on it,” he says, horrified.
“Yes! That's what you told me to do.”
For a long moment, he just stares at the dark window, his reflection a ghost over the pines.
“It’s not that simple,” he says, placing his mug in the sink. “She drew you today. For hours. I’ve never seen her focus like that on one person before.”
“I have! You!” I say, the words rushing out. “Sometimes, I’ll catch her watching you like she’s afraid that you’ll disappear if she looks away.”
He stares at his hands on the counter’s edge, knuckles white. “Wanting something doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”
“So what?” The question slips out, sharper than I intended. “You didn’t apply that logic to leaving us alone today.”
A shock of something raw—guilt, maybe, or just plain surprise—flashes across his face. He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “That was different.”
