“How was your day?” He leaves the stove, wiping his hands on the dishtowel before tossing it onto the counter. The way he moves toward me is deliberate, purposeful.
“Good.” I take a small step forward too, drawn by invisible threads. We kissed goodbye the morning after he left my place, but I’m not sure what the new status quo is. It’s that awkward beginning of a relationship, the kind of situation I haven’t faced in years.
He must have already made up his mind, though, because he wastes no time closing the distance between us. His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, before pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is soft but sure, stealing my breath and all my racing thoughts along with it.
“Hi,” he breathes against my cheek, his forehead resting against mine.
“Hi,” I whisper back, feeling like my heels have sprouted wings and I’m hovering six inches above the ground.
The sound of approaching footsteps makes me take a step back, though Oliver’s hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. Niall and Sophie enter the kitchen, and if they noticed anything, they don’t show it.
“Devin!” Niall greets me with genuine warmth, pulling me into a quick hug. “Glad you could make it. You ready to witness Oliver’s culinary debut?”
“I heard that,” Oliver mutters, returning to the stove. “It’s not my debut. I’ve cooked before.”
“Burnt toast doesn’t count,” Niall shoots back, and Sophie swats his arm.
“Be nice. It smells amazing in here.”
“Thank you,” Oliver says pointedly to Sophie, then glances at me. “At least someone appreciates my efforts.”
“I appreciate them too,” I say, squeezing his hand. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
Niall grins between us, clearly noticing our joined hands. “Sophie, I think we need to open another bottle of wine. This is a celebration.”
“Oh, just sparking water for me, please.” I glance at Sophie, making sure she hears me then turn back to Niall. “What are we celebrating?”
“Oliver cooking edible food, apparently,” Sophie says with a laugh. “And... other things.” She gives Niall a meaningful look that makes me blush.
Dinner is ready a few minutes later. We all help to plate it up—the Chicken Adobo glossy and dark, served over fluffy white rice with a simple salad on the side. We take seats in the dining room that looks out onto the backyard, where snow blankets everything in pristine white. Sophie lights candles on the table, casting a warm glow over everything.
Everything flows. The conversation. The wine. Even my sparkling water, which Sophie was kind enough to add a splash of cranberry and a sprig of mint. Oliver updates us on Richie, who’s been diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, which is likely what caused his knee to dislocate.
“The good news is, now that we know what we’re dealing with, we can adjust his training,” Oliver explains, his passion for coaching evident. “He’s actually excited about it. Says it makes him feel less like something’s wrong with him and more like he just needs a different approach.”
“That’s wonderful,” I say, genuinely moved. “Having a diagnosis can be so validating.”
He fills me in on how well his physical therapy routine is going, demonstrating a wrist stretch I taught him. When his knee brushes against mine under the table, I nearly gasp at the electric shock of it. The touch lingers, deliberate now, his leg pressed against mine.
“So,” Niall says, a mischievous glint in his eye, “should Sophie and I be prepared for Devin to be around for breakfast tomorrow?”
I nearly choke on my water, and Oliver kicks him under the table. “Niall.”
“What? I’m just planning ahead. Need to know how many eggs to buy.”
“Ignore him,” Sophie tells me, though she’s hiding a smile. “He’s been impossible since he figured out you two were...” She waves her hand vaguely.
“Reuniting,” Niall supplies helpfully. “Rekindling. Reigniting the flames of?—”
“Eating dinner,” Oliver interrupts firmly, but he’s fighting back a grin. “We’re eating dinner.”
“Thank you for teaching Oliver those exercises.” Sophie sets the key lime pie she and Oliver made on the table, smoothly changing the subject. It’s beautiful, with perfectly piped whipped cream rosettes. “It was awful seeing him in so much pain.”
“How do you know I’m in less pain?” Oliver playfully squints his eyes at her, but his hand finds mine under the table, squeezing gently.
“Please.” Niall laughs. “You’ve been barking less, for one.”
“That could be because of something else happening in my life.” Oliver’s words drip with suggestion, and I fight to hold back a smile, my cheeks warming.
