There’s a pause. Then:
Olive:
Okay. I’ll be there. Do not ghost me or leave me alone with them. I will panic and say something weird about taxidermy or wombats.
Ash:
Noted. I won’t let you out of arm’s reach.
I toss the phone on the bed, a weird flutter in my chest.
I’m still dreading the meeting. But the idea of her sitting next to me? Of holding her hand under the table while my parents try to figure out what the hell happened to their son?
That almost makes it bearable.
***
I’m pacing the living room like a guy about to face a firing squad.
Dinner with my parents. Not just dinner—introducing them to Olive.
And she said yes. She's coming with me. Which means I'm going to sit across from the people who spent years disapproving of every choice I’ve made… with the one person I finally feel proud to bring home.
I hear the front door open and spin around just as Olive rushes in, cheeks flushed from the heat, hair a little messy from the day. Her tote bag slips off her shoulder as she kicks off her shoes, muttering something about traffic and preschool glitter explosions.
She’s wearing one of those soft T-shirts with a tiny faded rainbow on it, and jeans that hug her hips just right.
“Hey,” I say.
She startles a little and looks up, catching her breath. “Sorry—I thought you’d already left. I need, like, ten minutes to change. Tops.”
“No rush,” I manage, even though my heart’s doing somersaults. “We’ve got time.”
She disappears down the hall, and I follow without thinking. Not in a creepy way—I just… I want to be near her. Even if it’s just to hear her talk to herself while she chooses earrings.
Her door’s half open. She’s already slipped off her jeans and is shimmying out of her T-shirt. I freeze in place when I see the soft stretch of bare skin and pale pink bra. She’s facing away from me, humming under her breath. She reaches for a dress on the hanger.
I should leave. Ishould.
Instead, I knock softly.
She gasps and whips around, one hand flying to her chest. “Ash!”
“Sorry,” I say, voice rough. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
Her eyes dart to the door behind me, then back. “I thought you’d be pacing in the kitchen or something.”
“I was. Then you walked in. And now… here I am.”
Color rises in her cheeks as she looks down at the dress in her hands. “Okay, well. I’m going to try this one on, and then we can go.”
She steps into the dress, and I hesitate.
Then I take a step forward.
“Need help with the zipper?”
She looks up at me, wide-eyed. For a second, she doesn’t say anything. Then—“It’s one of those ridiculous side zippers. I hate them.”
