“You sure?”
He nods and smiles warmly, then turns to address a scowling Grey. “No peanuts. I checked before I got it.”
Why wouldheneed to check his food for peanuts?
I bite into the sandwich, the perfect flavors eliciting a muffled groan from me. Oliver’s smile broadens as he starts on my salad.
Misha is right.
Oliver always knows what to do to make things better.
Seizing a surge of confidence, I look at him and blurt out, “I haven’t seen you at the coffee station for a while now. Do youwant to schedule a time tomorrow for our break so we can grab one together?”
Oliver pauses, fork midair, his eyes wide when he turns to me as if he’s trying to make sure I’m really talking to him.
“I…” He begins, then stops, his ears turning a shade of red that probably matches the blush I can feel spreading across my cheeks.
Fuck, maybe there’s a reason why he doesn’t really talk to me after all.
Maybe he just doesn’t want to.
We both sit there, our mouths opening and closing, the silence stretching painfully awkward.
I’m about to backtrack, to mumble some excuse, but Misha’s laughter cuts through the tension. “Oh my God, you guys look like blushing fish. Ouch!” he yelps, presumably in response to Grey kicking him under the table.
This is spiraling into a disaster. I set down my sandwich and fold my hands in my lap, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.
God, I’m such a bloody muppet.
Oliver reaches out and hesitantly takes my hand from my lap. When I don’t pull away, he gives it a reassuring squeeze. His touch is tentative, yet it anchors me. I look up, preparing for the worst, but instead, he asks quietly, “Does ten work for you?”
The relief that floods through me is palpable, and I can’t help the grateful smile that breaks across my face. “Yeah, ten works great.”
We go back to eating, and the guys talk about some AI breakthroughs a competitor company had. I listen with interest but keep my mouth shut.
I’ve said enough for today.
When I’m done with my sandwich, I put my ankle over my knee, massaging my calf.
Misha watches me with a mix of concern and humor in his eyes, “Is that my fault?”
“Yours, mine, the mountains…” I reply with a shrug.
“If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough,” Grey murmurs beside me, a teasing smirk on his face when I shoot him a glare.
“How about we chill and watch a movie tonight? At our place,” Misha suggests.
Oliver nods. “Sure, but Morgan is there, so she will probably join us.”
I hesitate, unsure if I want to hang out with a stranger tonight, feeling the cramps tightening. “I don’t know. I don’t feel so good.” And I just want to curl up in my sweatpants to look and feel miserable while stuffing my face with ice cream.
“Come on, let us take care of you,” Misha insists. “I can put some ointment on your oh-so-strong calves. And you can come in sweatpants, feel at home. Grey could cook us dinner.”
I look at Grey, who shrugs nonchalantly. “Sure.”
“I’d rather have popcorn and ice cream,” I admit, thinking about the tubs that will arrive after work with the food delivery.
Oliver smiles. “Morgan and I bought lots of snacks on our way home. She lives off them.”
