“Hi, Ariella, nice to see you again.” This makes Olive laugh, and Ariella waves. That girl has a way of showing up when I least expect her to. I swear it’s a skill, like she was born to ensure Olive and I always get interrupted when things take a turn.
“Okay, I should go though,” Olive says. “We are baking and drinking wine. If you’re lucky I’ll save some muffins for Friday.” Olive winks at me, then flashes me a megawatt smile before blowing me a kiss.
“There’s only one muffin I’m interested in, just so you know.” I blow her a kiss back and wink.
“Gross! She’s hanging up now.” I see Ariella’s disgusted face before the call disconnects.
I sink back into the bed, laughing to myself. There isn’t a doubt in my mind: I’m in love with Olivia Bowman. I just really hope she loves me back.
twenty-five
Olive
Hidden Magic
8 Days Until Halloween
“Why is it you don’t have a car again?” Bridget asks as we turn onto the main highway leading toward Sam’s cabin. I shift in my seat, trying to come up with the best way to explain this without divulging too much information.
“I don’t have the money to buy one,” I offer, shrugging when her eyes bulge at my confession.
“Don’t you come from a rich family?”
“I, uh, well my parents are well-off, yes. But I decided to take a different path for my life, and that also meant walking awayfrom their money,” I explain. I didn’t really want to get into this, especially not when I should be getting excited for my date. But I’m not a great liar, and Bridget seems like the kind of no-bullshit girl that could handle my truth. Also, she’s driving me to the date, so she deserves a good reason.
“Whoa. I gotta give you props, I don’t know if I could have done that.” Bridget shakes her shoulders a bit, shaking off what I assume is shock.
“You could if you’d met Ted,” I quip, looking out the window, trying desperately not to picture his smug face sipping whiskey at the country club and smoking a cigar.
“Who the hell is Ted?” she asks.
“The man my mother wanted me to marry,” I reply casually.
“Wait, what? Girl, your life is weird.” Her simple assessment makes us both laugh. She has no idea just how bizarre it truly is.
“Was that not obvious enough when you had to drive me to a date with your brother?” I ask.
“Well, yeah. I mean this is definitely a first. But Sammy is really into you, and when he called me in a panic about the meal he’s trying to make, I really didn’t have the heart to say no.” Bridget claps a hand over her mouth. “Shit, shit, shit. Do not tell him I said that. He made me promise to not make things weird or to out him for being less experienced in the kitchen.”
“I won’t tell him, but if I’m about to get food poisoning, blink twice so I can be prepared,” I say, hesitancy and humor equal in my reply.
“I promise you won’t. I’m like ninety-percent sure he’s been on video chat with Mom all day, making sure he doesn’t screw anything up.”
“I feel bad. He really didn’t need to go to all this trouble.” I shift again, readjusting the tin of muffins in my lap. I made a fresh batch for him after our phone call a couple days ago. Wecould survive on these, and worst case scenario, we can get some pizza.
“He cares about you, a lot.” Bridget reaches over to squeeze my hand gently before making the turn onto Sam’s private road.
As the gravel crunches under the tires, I can’t help but feel a little uneasy. I care about him, too, I just don’t know if what we have is real enough to go the distance. It seems like there’s more weight to what we are doing here, like it could be long-term when nothing else has ever been like that for me. But there’s also the question of how much of this is based on him having too much insight, how much of his patience with me opening up slowly is enabled by his ability to judge my emotions by my arm. I watch the fall foliage pass as we continue down the driveway, willing myself to stop worrying about things I can’t control.
As we pull into the clearing, I can tell things are different immediately. The last time I was here there wasn’t a set of hammock chairs hanging near the edge of the drop-off, overlooking the ocean. There wasn’t a clearly defined path to get to the cabin.When did he have time to do all of this?
Catching my stunned gaze, Bridget says, “He put a ton of effort into this night. I hope you love it.”
“Everything looks incredible. Am I supposed to go to the cabin? Or what’s the plan?” I ask, hand hesitating on the door handle.
“Yes, I swear to God. The two of you are like a pack of toddlers wandering around. Get your stuff and go get your man. I gotta boogie.” Bridget waves me out of the car in a hurry and promptly leaves once I step out with my things.
I start my trek, overnight bag slung on my shoulder and muffin tin clasped tightly in my hands, toward the . . .stone pathway? When we walked to the cabin just a few weeks ago, there was nothing more than dirt and branches to trip over. Now there is a beautifully laid flagstone walkway with stringlights overhead. It’s magical and breathtaking. I feel like a fairy floating to her secret little garden getaway. I’m sure he didn’t do this just for me, but my heart skips a beat at the thoughtfulness. Someone who puts care and attention to detail into their home must be a decent human being.
