“Stalker,” I breathe out with a chuckle. Oliver’s grin turns into a full on smile. He’s leaning against the doorframe, the corridor that leads to the bedrooms behind him. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for you.” He lifts his hand, holding out two fingers that he folds towards himself. “Come here.”
He’s dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a black shirt, the top button open to reveal a sliver of his chest. His hair is windswept, his newly bleached curls a mess atop his head. I drink him in for a moment before I can’t resist the pull any longer.
“Darcey set me up,” I muse, my pulse kicking up the closer I get to him. I’m not mad at my best friend, even if she’s sticking her nose into my business. How can I be, when Oliver is standing right there, looking at me like he never stopped loving me?
“She did. She also told meeverything.”
His confession makes me pause, dread filtering in and pushing away the excitement I felt at seeing him.
“She had no right to do that.” Now Iamangry at her. As if things were not already hard for me, this won’t make things easier. He’ll want answers and actions, and I don’t know that I can give those to him. I waver in my next step, unsure of what to do.
“It’s okay. We’ll work it all out. Now come here, please.” The command in his voice makes me shiver, anticipation flooding my body, making my pulse soar. But it’s not only a command, it’s a plea. It’s him asking me to pick him tonight.
I don’t know what happens tomorrow or the days after, but right now, the decision is easy. Blowing out a breath, I close the distance, stopping right in front of Oliver, looking up into his deep brown eyes.
He reaches for my hand, and with our eyes locked, he slides the wedding band off my left hand. After that time I forgot it, I don’t take it off out of fear. Oliver places a hand on my hip, then turns to place the ring into an upside down oyster shell on the side cabinet.
“I’m pausing time,” he says. “Nothing outside of here exists. Just us two.” Oliver leans down and captures my lips with his and I melt into him, one hand landing on his hip and the other coming up to rest on the side of his neck. The solid feel of him grounding me as I’m hit with a whirlwind of emotions. “I don’t care whose ring is on your finger, you –” he kisses me again. “Are.” Another kiss. “Mine.”
A warmth akin to joy fills me. I am his; I have been since the day we met. When I open my mouth to ask him if he understands why I did what I did, Oliver silences me with a finger on my lips. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”
“Okay.” I can live with that. I can live with never talking about it all, with living in this little bubble for the rest of our lives.
Oliver slides his hand into mine, twining our fingers together.
“Let’s grab some dinner and take a walk,” he suggests.
“I’d like that.”
We both put on our shoes and coats, then head outside into the cold night. Oliver takes my hand again and we make our way up the cobbled alley to the high street, following the road as it rounds the corner towards the harbour. The smell of seafood hangs in the air, mixing with a tangy aroma of vinegar that makes my stomach grumble. There’s a line of people waiting to order fish and chips from an old wooden hut, and another outside a food stall serving fresh oysters. Oliver joins the queue for fish and chips, his hand still locked in mine.
“This okay with you?”
“Perfect,” I reply, and it’s no lie. If all I ever did again was eat fish and chips while holding his hand, I would be happy.
We don’t talk while we wait our turn, content to be together in the same space at the same time. Touching. Connected.
When we have our orders in hand, we find a bench overlooking the harbour and sit down. There’s a streetlamp behind us, bathing us in its warm yellow glow. Oliver hesitates when he unwraps his fish and I watch as he picks up a chip. He closes his eyes, opens them again and then pops the chip in his mouth. He looks at me as he chews, and I smile before tucking into my own. The batter is crisp, and the fish melts in my mouth. I must be really hungry because I clear my helping in record time, licking the salt off my fingers when I’m done. When I look up, it’s to find Ollie watching me and the look on his face takes me back to the first time I caught him doing the same.
“You’re doing it again,” I joke.
“You know I’ll never stop.”
He casts a glance at the food on his lap, his features turning serious as he looks at me. I note that he’s eaten a third of his fish and almost all his chips.
“It’s progress,” he starts. “Savoury foods are easier than sweet. My therapist said it’ll take time. Some days I slide back into complete avoidance, but mostly I’m doing okay. I’m finding enjoyment in food again, slowly.”
My eyes sting, a lump forming in my throat. I’m so fucking proud of him and so disappointed in myself.
“I’m sorry I let you down. That I wasn’t there to support you like I said I would.”
Oliver bumps my shoulder with his.
“After you left, I had a moment where I thought of saying fuck it and cancelling. It felt easier to exist the way I had been for so long.” Oliver turns to face me fully. “You were my reason for making that first call, for asking for help, butIwas the reason for following through. I had to do it for me. Not for you or for anyone else. Not to show Alister he couldn’t win or to prove anything to anyone. I did it for me, because I wanted to. I won’t lie and say I didn’t think of calling you after every session, but I’m not giving up. Broken heart or not.”
I flinch at the reminder of how I hurt him, not only by breaking his heart, but by making it seem like I didn’t want him. I will always want him and love him. I hope he knows that it’s not as simple as choosing my father over him, because it isn’t clear cut or black and white. The choice I was given lives somewhere in the grey, where doing one thing or the other ultimately hurts someone I care about.
