Oliver looks at me, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.
“It’s all good. I didn’t mind coming here. Take your time getting packed. We’re not in a rush. We'll get on the road when you’re ready.”
He sighs, a deep releasing of air that feels like it holds a lifetime of tension.
“You sure you’re okay to drive us?”
“Ollie, I said I was. My car’s downstairs. Fully charged. I have road snacks. We’regood.” I stress the word because I need him to believe it. He hasn’t explained in detail why he’s afraid to go back home, but I’m intuitive enough to know that there’s something there that scares him. For my part, I’ll do my damndest to make sure it goes smoothly. And if it doesn’t, I’ll be there for him.
I will always be there for Oliver. He’s my person.
That awareness fills me with a kaleidoscope of butterflies.
It may seem soon, we may still be navigating whatever this is that’s growing between us, but I know it on a bone deep level. He’s mine.
Oliver rubs the back of his neck, then runs a hand through his hair. His curls were already in disarray when I walked in and he’s made them worse with each pass of his hand.
“Okay. Thank you. I won’t be much longer.” He disappears through a door I presume is the bathroom and I sit on the sofa, the fabric so soft I sink right into it. There’s a magazine lying face down next to me. I pick it up and flip to a page that’s been dog-eared. It’s a home DIY magazine, with glossy pages showing beautifully designed rooms, intricately crafted furniture, and lush green gardens. The page Oliver has bookmarked is a step-by-step guide to building a bespoke alcove bookshelf.
I’m reading each step carefully, turning the page when Oliver appears in front of me. He’s changed out of his work clothes and into grey shorts and a sleeveless black tee. He has sunglasses resting on the top of his head and his duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
“This is pretty cool.” I point to an image of the complete shelving unit. It’s made from thick oak and the designer haspainted the surrounding wall a mint green, which gives the whole aesthetic a country house feel.
“Yeah, I would love to build that someday.”
My eyebrows raise. “You would?”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
I lay the magazine next to me in the position I found it, and Oliver holds out his hand. I take it and he pulls me up, bringing us chest to chest. He’s taller than me at a little over six feet, and I tip my head to look at him. His warm brown eyes meet mine. “Would you build it for this place?”
He lets out a breath that ghosts my lips. My heart picks up, thumping against my sternum, and Oliver’s eyes dart down. The air stills, a crackle of electricity sparking between us.
Oliver takes a breath and turns away, heading to the front door.
“No. It’s a pipe dream, really. A silly plan I’ve had since I was a kid watching those home renovation shows.”
I follow him out and we make our way down the stairs and onto the street, where I gesture to the left to a green Mini Countryman.
“You’d want to renovate your own place?” I ask, unlocking the car. Oliver throws his bag in the back, next to mine.
“Like I said, it’s a pipe dream. I try not to put too much thought into something that is unlikely to happen. Some days I just like to look at options and remember the little boy who had dreams once upon a time.” He brushes off the conversation like having a dream isn’t a huge fucking deal. I don’t have one – most of the time I’m floating through life. Happy but never quite heading anywhere. I admire him for wanting something for his future.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I turn to watch Oliver climb in.
“I think it’s good to have goals. I hope you do it one day. That you build that bookshelf and anything else your heart desires.”
“Maybe I will,” he concedes.
“Good.” I find my sunglasses in the side of the door, slide them on and start the engine.
Oliver runs a hand over the dashboard, shooting me that grin that twists me up inside. “This is a nice car. It’s very you.”
“Sexy, smart, and incredibly reliable?” I joke.
“Something like that.”
Chapter 11
