At that piece of information, George spun round, eyes lighting up.
‘Which one?’
‘Char’s.’
It didn’t surprise me when George’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. Charlotte’s restaurant had grown in popularity recently, gaining a following online for its unique dishes and interesting style. I’d only eaten there once when it first opened and had found the use of ridiculous names on the menu and the tiny portions to be aggravating rather than decadent.
‘That place is supposed to be amazing. I’ve wanted to check it out for ages.’
I forced a polite smile to my lips.
‘What’s supposed to be amazing?’ Oliver padded down the hallway, and the air that I’d managed to gain back to my lungs was stolen. His hair was wet, brushed back against his head like he’d been raking his fingers through it. Black jeans clung to his legs and a faded grey crew neck hung loosely to his chest. Catching me staring, he winked, heading into the kitchen and turning on the coffee machine.
Bloody hell. His butt was insane in those pants. And don’tget me started on the bare feet. Why is barefoot-in-jeans a thing?
‘Did you know Fallon’s sister owns Char’s?’ George said, plopping the final pancake onto the stack and putting it on the kitchen island.
The muscles in Oliver’s back tensed. He filled a mug with coffee and topped it off with milk, shrugging. ‘So?’
George scoffed. ‘Man that place is supposed to be incredible.’
Scooping two large spoonfuls of sugar into the mug, Oliver stirred it and sauntered over to me. He plucked the empty takeaway cup from my hands and replaced it with the fresh mug.
‘Really? I heard it was pretentious and over-priced,’ Oliver commented casually. He trailed his fingers up my arm, making goosebumps stand to attention on my skin. George huffed out a reply and went back to the stove. I was caught in Oliver’s gaze. The kindness I saw there, mingled with a healthy dose of desire, caused the air to freeze in my lungs.
I didn’t need him to disparage my sister's work. I wasn’t so insecure in myself that I needed to strip her of her accomplishments she had rightly earned.
But it was the fact that Oliver had stood up for me. Silently and without hesitation. Apart from Rosie, I’d never had anyone in my corner before. It felt… good. Strange. Definitely strange. But good.
Half an hour later,my stomach was fit to explode. A scattering of empty plates and a few stray pieces of bacon covered the kitchen island. Oliver groaned next to me, patting his stomach and leaning back on the stool.
‘Think you’ve killed me, man.’
I hummed in agreement. ‘Seriously, where did you learn to cook like that?’
‘Mum taught me. She was a cracking cook,’ George said, already starting to clean up the dishes. He wasn’t as affected by the feast like we both seemed to be.
‘She made the best rice pudding in the world,’ Oliver mused.
As he filled the sink up with hot water, George smiled. ‘To this day, I still can’t replicate it. I have the recipe, but it’s not the same.’ A sad smile crossed his face for a split second before he turned to the sink and started scrubbing the pans.
‘Here, let me help.’ I gathered the rest of the plates, but before I could stand up, Oliver put a hand on my arm.
‘You don’t need to do that. Give them here.’ He wiggled his fingers to the crockery in my hand.
‘I’m capable of helping wash up,’ I said.
‘Of course you are, however, you’ve only had two cups of coffee this morning and I know from experience that that isn’t nearly enough to keep the festering beast sated.’
My eyes popped out of my head. ‘Festering beast?’
Oliver took the plates from me, stood up and delicately kissed the tip of my nose with a smug grin on his perfect face.
‘You gonna tell me you’re not dying for another cup?’
I floundered for a moment. ‘That’s… you don’t…’
He chuckled. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
