She snorts softly, a sound that’s somehow both amused and forgiving.
“I’m sorry for being an asshole to you. I thought I was helping you be a better person, that if I could do that you would think I was good enough for you.” The admission sits heavy in the darkness between us, a truth I’ve only recently been able to face.
“That makes sense,” she murmurs, her breath warm against my chest. Even though there’s no one around, the dark room seems to call for whispering, creating an intimate cocoon around us. “I wish that I had told you to mind your own business.”
I chuckle, the sound rumbling through my chest. “You can tell me now. Anytime.”
“I will.” She grins against my skin, and I feel it more than see it.
“Come ’ere.” I pull her closer, tucking her into the crook of my arm where she fits perfectly, like she was always meant to be there. She sighs happily, a sound of pure contentment thatmakes my heart swell. I kiss the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, something floral and sweet that I’ve missed more than I realized.
The weight of her against me, the trust she’s showing by being here, the promise of a future built on something stronger than just physical attraction. I never expected the universe to give me a second chance with Devin, and now that I have it there’s no way I’m fucking it up again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Devin
Stopping at the mirror by my front door, I check my reflection yet again, dabbing at the corners of my lipstick and smoothing a few unruly hairs. The deep plum shade makes my lips look fuller, and I’ve managed to tame my hair into soft waves that frame my face. My stomach flutters with anticipation. The week has been full of work, made even longer by the fact that Oliver and I have only seen each other at the rink. There’s not a lot of opportunity to talk there, other than a few minutes here and there—stolen moments between drills when I catch him watching me from across the ice, or quick exchanges in the parking lot that leave me wanting more.
Which makes tonight even more special. He’s invited me over to have dinner with him, Niall, and Sophie, and apparently hell has frozen over because he’s cooking. The text he sent made me laugh out loud:“Fair warning - I’m attempting Filipino food. Niall has the fire department on standby.”
I don’t even care if it’s burnt to a crisp, like everything Olivermade when we lived together. Seeing him is the main course, everything else is just pretty garnish.
Closing the door, I set off at a brisk pace, my boots clicking against the salted sidewalk. The cold air nips at my cheeks, but I welcome it—anything to cool the warmth spreading through me at the thought of seeing Oliver. Niall’s house is close enough that I can walk there in ten minutes, and I could use the fresh air after being inside all day. The winter sunset paints the sky in shades of pink and orange, and I find myself walking faster, eager to close the distance between us.
I’ve just made it to the end of the block when my phone beeps with a text from Jemma, asking me if she should make dinner reservations for all the nights of our ski trip. My thumb hovers over the screen, guilt pricking at me. She still doesn’t know about Oliver and me.
I start to answer, then decide to leave it to later. We’ve spent hours this week finalizing a dozen different details of the trip, and I need a break. And a drink.
That last thing, I won’t be getting. I’m still being careful, doing everything I can to keep my symptoms in check. The POTS has been manageable lately, but alcohol is one of those triggers I’ve learned to avoid completely.
So when Sophie answers her front door with a glass of red wine in hand, looking effortlessly elegant in a cozy sweater dress, I have to politely decline. “I’m still dry,” I answer, handing my coat over to her.
She frowns, setting her wine on the entry table. “I should have remembered that. Sorry!”
“It’s okay.” I rub my hands together. Despite the cold weather, they’re sweaty. I spent the second part of the walk trying to talk myself into a calm state, but I still feel like I’m showing up to a middle school dance, knowing my crush will be here and I’ll interact with him in front of other people, and wondering just what everyone will think.
The smell of cooking onions and garlic fills the house, mixed with ginger and the rich scent of soy sauce and vinegar. Sophie leads me into the kitchen, where jazz music plays softly in the background. Oliver stands at the stove, dishtowel over his shoulder and apron on—a navy one that says “Kiss the Cook” in faded letters. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms as he stirs something on the stove. I can’t help it. I laugh out loud.
He turns around to face me, spatula in hand, grin lopsided and eyes crinkling at the corners. “What?”
“I just...” I wave at him, taking in the whole domestic scene. “Never thought I would see this.”
“I made you that banana bread, didn’t I? And the donuts.” His voice carries that playful defensiveness I’ve come to love.
I bite into my smile, remembering the morning he showed up at my practice with warm donuts. “And they were good.”
All of my anxiety vanishes. I don’t care that Sophie is in the same room, leaning against the counter with a knowing smile. That she and Niall might know everything that’s happened between me and Oliver. I’m just glad to be here, in this warm kitchen that smells like home and possibility.
“You like Chicken Adobo?” He asks, lifting the lid on a pot to give it stir. Steam rises, carrying the tangy scent of vinegar and bay leaves.
“For sure.” My mouth waters. I haven’t had Filipino food in ages.
Sophie squeezes past me, her hand briefly touching my shoulder. “I’m going to go tell Niall you’re here.”
I nod after her, suddenly aware that we’re alone. The kitchen feels smaller, more intimate. I realize that tonight is the best possible scenario. Oliver is right. We should take things slow, and if we’re in front of other people there’s no possibility of launching myself across the table and onto his face.
Maybe.
