“Of course not,” he says. I raise an eyebrow and he sighs. “Feck. Maybe a little.”
I can’t help but smile, which makes Ollie scowl. “I’m not making fun of you.” I push off from the bathroom counter and step toward him. His ears are pink. I pinch the tops of them between my fingers, and the groove between his brows deepens. “Look at you,” I say. “How am I supposed to get anywhere on time when you barge in here all flustered?”
“I’m not flustered,” he mumbles.
“Don’t be nervous. My parents love you.” Ollie’s joined me for cookouts and other family events now and then over the years, but last month was the first time I brought him along as something more than a friend. I thought my mother would faint with happiness when we walked through the front door hand in hand.
“They might not like me as much when you tell them we’ve eloped,” Ollie says. “Your dad might try and kick my arse for marrying you without asking him first.”
“I should probably care what my parents think, but I don’t,” I say. “Telling them is just the warm-up for dinner with Jo and Alex tonight. We have to tell them as soon as we get to the restaurant, otherwise I won’t be able to eat a thing, and that’ll make Jo suspicious, and if she’s suspicious, I’ll only be more nervous.”
“I’d say you’re overthinking it, but you and Jo are something else,” he says.
“You don’t think she’ll be upset that we’re stealing her thunder by getting married before her? Not to mentionwithouther.”
“When you told her we were together, she looked like she’d won the fecking lottery,” he says. “I don’t think she’ll be upset.”
“You have a point,” I say. I straighten the collar of Ollie’s shirt and frown. “You don’t have to be so dressed up, you know. You’ll be too hot in this.”
The nerves flutter across his face. “Do you think I should change?”
“Absolutely, and right this minute.” Ollie laughs when I hop onto the counter and pull him to me. “This is a fashion emergency,” I say, slipping the top button of his shirt loose.
“We’re already late,” Ollie says, but he doesn’t step away when I continue unbuttoning his shirt.
“Exactly. So what’s a little while longer?” Once his shirt is undone, I push it from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
Ollie sighs when I run my hands over his chest and down hisstomach, greedily touching every inch of skin I can. “You make no fecking sense,” he says. “But itfeelslike you’re making sense when you do that.”
“See, Oliver? I’m always right.”
“And I don’t like it when you call me Oliver,” he says.
“Oh hush. I’m trying to concentrate.” I shoot him a glare and unbutton his jeans.
“I thought my shirt was the problem,” he says.
I shake my head soberly. “No. The whole outfit... it’s got to go.”
“In that case, we ought to go to the bedroom where the clothes are,” he says.
“Oh, if you insist.”
Ollie lifts me off the counter and over one shoulder. I yelp, and he smacks my ass with a laugh before turning to carry me into the hallway. But he hardly takes a step when he stumbles over one of the loose cabinet doors that’s swung open beneath the sink. He curses and takes a step back, managing to keep his balance until he slips on his discarded shirt. From where I’m hanging, mostly upside down over his shoulder, I’m positive we’re about to tumble into the shower. I brace myself to hit the ground face-first, but Ollie shifts his weight at the last second and hits the wall with the shoulder that’s not supporting my weight.
Ollie hisses but somehow manages to keep hold of me until he can set me gently on my feet.
“Are you all right?” I ask once I’m upright again. I feel his shoulder, checking it over to make sure he hasn’t broken or dislocated anything.
“I’ll be fine.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath. “This fucking apartment. I can’t wait until your lease is up. We need a bigger bathroom. And kitchen. And living room. And—”
“I know, I know,” I say. We’ve been looking at houses for weeks, but I haven’t liked a single one. They’ve all been lovely, with beautiful yards and open kitchens and more closet space than I’d know what todo with—which is saying something. I know we can afford it. Ollie and I are both frugal, and between the two of us, we have more than enough for a decent down payment. But every house Ollie has shown me has something that’s just a little off. Why settle for anything less than perfect? There’s no rush.
“I really think the place we’re seeing tomorrow will be the one,” he says. “I can already see you filling up your walk-in closet and taking over half of mine. There are so many closets in that house, you could have two devoted to your board games.”
Ollie continues listing all the things I’ll love about the house. When he talks about our future like this, I want to give him everything. I’m trying to, anyway. Whenever he passes me his phone with a listing for a house he’s really excited about, I agree to go to a showing. When he asked about a timeline for trying to get pregnant, I told him I’d set up a preconception appointment with my doctor, but every time I call to make an appointment, I hang up as soon as the receptionist answers.
I know I should tell him what’s going on inside my head, but Ollie’s been happier than I’ve ever seen him these last three months, and I want to keep him happy. And besides, I don’t know what I’d say. I’m just adjusting. It’s not a big deal. All I need is a little more time.
