Dr. Cockwomble isn’t in today, which is a rare blessing and means I can breathe a little easier and take a few extra minutes to calm my jittery nerves before meeting Oliver.
I’m so anxiously excited to spend time alone with him that I could puke.
As I make my way down to the cafeteria, expecting to wait awkwardly by myself, I’m taken aback to find Oliver already there, lingering in the doorway like he’s unsure if he should enter or flee.
“Hey,” I call out, not quite managing to keep my voice steady.
He spins around, the surprise on his face morphing into something shy and adorably awkward. “H-hey,” he stutters, his eyes darting away from mine. Glancing down, I catch a glimpse of his phone screen before he can hide it, a blog page glaring back with the headline,The Best Conversation Starters for a First Date.
I bite my cheek to suppress the grin threatening to break through. When I look up again, not only the tips but his entire ears are a dark shade of red.
His obvious insecurity makes me bolder than I feel. Smiling, I tilt my head and ask, “Should we?”
“Of course,” he replies quickly, almost relieved, gesturing for me to lead the way. As we walk toward the coffee station, my mind whirls.
Does he think this is a date?
I mean, I asked him to go for a coffee. That could be a friend date or adatedate.
I’m struggling to figure out if his hesitance toward me is because he doesn’t like me as much as the others do or if it’s just his shy nature. But it seems to be the latter if he thinks I asked him out on a date and still agreed to come.
Right?
At the coffee station, Oliver goes first. He works the machine with an ease that speaks of routine, adding two sugars and cream—just the way I like my coffee. I’m about to file this observation away as a curious coincidence when he turns and hands me the cup.
“Here,” he says, his voice steady but his hands a telltale tremble.
He knows how I take my coffee.
“Thank you,” I manage, surprise evident in my words as a rising warmth blooms in my chest, spreading fast. I take the cup, our fingers brushing briefly. He makes himself a coffee, black, not at all like the milky, slightly sugary concoction in my hands. Then we pick a table in the almost empty cafeteria, with just a scattering of other employees bustling in preparation for lunch and a few coworkers nestled at distant tables.
Sitting down, an awkward silence envelops us. We exchange tentative smiles and then quickly avert our gazes, his fixating on his dark brew and mine on a leftover crumb on the table surface.
I wanted to get to know him, not make everything awkward.
“Do you—” I start, breaking the silence, but he speaks at the same moment.
“How are?—”
We halt, our words colliding in the air, and then both laugh awkwardly.
He gestures to me, saying, “Please,” with a smile.
“No, you first,” I insist, settling back in my seat.
“I wanted to ask how you are. How’s the soreness… and everything?”
It’s so embarrassing that he knows I’m crampy, but I try not to let it show. “Much better, thanks. The soreness is almost gone. Misha’s ointment worked wonders,” I admit, managing a grateful smile.
And it really did. I felt like a new person this morning.
Well, besides the endometrial shedding, of course.
“That’s good to hear,” he responds warmly. “Are you swearing off hikes now, or was that experience motivation to do more?”
I laugh, the sound more relaxed than I feel. “Well, it was worth the pain, so I’m probably crazy enough to do it again if Misha asks me.”
“He will, for sure. He couldn’t stop talking about how cool it was to have a hiking buddy. He always wants us to come along, but I’m more of an indoor kind of guy, and Grey just tells himfuck noevery time he asks.” Oliver chuckles, and I can easily picture Grey’s scowl. “But I guess if you’re brave enough to face the outdoors, I should try it too sometime.”
