“Not on this hand.”
“And the other?”
He puts his other hand in mine, and I spot a new burn right away, just behind the knuckle of his pinky finger. “New line cook doesn’t look where he’s fecking going,” he says.
“I wish you’d be more careful,” I say, but I regret it as soon as Ollie’s smile becomes a smirk.
“So, you did miss me.”
“I didn’t say that.” And really, what does he care if I missed him or not? What would it change about anything?
“I’m seventy percent sure you did,” Ollie says.
Ollie’s hands feel so good in mine after months apart that I don’t care that what I’m about to suggest will only make the situation between us murkier. “Do you want to play a game?” I ask.
“What game?”
“Truth or dare.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Oh. Sure.” He squints at me. “Truth or dare, Nina Lejeune?”
“No,” I say. “I go first.”
Ollie rolls his eyes. “Why do you always get to make the rules?”
“Because I suggested the game.”
“All right, all right. You go.”
“Truth or dare?” I ask.
Ollie’s eyes are bright with mischief. “Dare,” he says.
“I dare you to come outside with me,” I say.
“Done.”
“Marvelous.” I drop one of his hands, keeping a tight grip on the other as I pull him through Mitch’s and toward the door that leads to the back parking lot. I’m only distracting myself from one problem by blowing up another. I know that. But I’m not very good at listening to reason, especially my own.
As soon as we step outside, I press my hands to Ollie’s chest and push him against the brick exterior of Mitch’s.
“You smell like a tin of Altoids,” I say.
“Probably taste like them too.”
“This means nothing.”
“Sure thing, kitten.”
When I lift myself onto my toes and kiss him, Jo’s news and the ache in my bad knee are all but forgotten. Kissing Ollie is like working a charter—familiar, but never boring. At first the kiss is soft, almost sweet. He tastes exactly as I remember. I’d bet all my tips from the season he has a still-warm tumbler of mint tea in his car. When Ollie slides his fingers into my hair and pulls me closer, my hands find his shoulders again. Really, does the man do anything besides swear, and cook, and work out?
When we pull apart, Ollie grins. “Now I’m ninety-nine percent sure you missed me.”
I roll my eyes and lean in to kiss him again, but Ollie catches my shoulders and holds me back. “Uh-uh,” he says. “It’s my turn.”
I sigh. “Fine. Go.”
“Truth or dare?” he says.
