“Sure,” I said, and I stepped aside, though everything in me wanted to close the door and crawl back into bed.
He walked in and looked around the room the way people do when they don’t actually care about the décor but need somewhere to put their eyes.I closed the door and leaned against it, arms folded, keeping the distance between us.The room felt too small with him in it.Everything felt too small lately.
“How are you feeling?”he asked, turning back to me.
“Tired.”I shrugged, the gesture empty.
He nodded slowly, then he sat down on the edge of the armchair near the window, elbows on his knees.I stayed where I was, by the door, like I might need the exit.
The silence between us was full of a mountain of things unsaid.
“Ollie—”
“Lily—”
We both stopped.He huffed out a small laugh and gestured for me to go first.
I made myself cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed, though I kept my arms wrapped around myself.
“I think you know what I’m going to say,” I said quietly.The talk I needed to have with Ollie.I wanted to ask him about Henri and the story, but most of all, I needed to tell him I wasn’t interested anymore.
“Yeah.I think I do.”
I pulled at a loose thread on the comforter, winding it around my finger until the tip went white.
“I really appreciate all the dinners and chats, Ollie.But we need to stay friends.”
The words came out plain.No softening, no preamble.I owed him that much—the clean version, not some dressed-up speech designed to make me feel better about delivering it.
Ollie’s entire body seemed to go rigid for a second before relaxing back into his usual comfortable ease.He studied the carpet between his shoes.
“I’m sorry if I led you on.That wasn’t fair, and I know it.I genuinely enjoyed hanging out with you.The dinners, the paddock stuff.You made me laugh when I really needed it.”
“You don’t have to do that.”He looked up.His eyes were dry and clear, no trace of surprise in them.“The whole letting-me-down-easy thing.You’ve chosen Henri, I can see it.”
I nodded uncomfortably.
“After your photos from the Beetle racing in London, I knew I’d lost.”A light smile tugged at his lips.“I am a journalist, after all.”He sat forward, rubbing the back of his neck.“I owe you an apology too, actually.”
“For what?”
“The fan questions.During the podcast taping.”He wouldn’t meet my eye now.“I picked the meaner ones on purpose, to rattle you.”
I’d suspected this, somewhere in the back of my mind, but hearing him confirm it was different.The ground shifted under something I thought was solid.
“That’s—”
“Spiteful.It was spiteful.I was jealous after seeing those photos of you and Henri, and I took it out on you in the pettiest way I could find.”He finally looked at me again.“I’m not proud of it.I’ve been carrying it around since Silverstone, and it’s been eating me alive.”
I sat with that for a moment, letting it settle into place alongside everything else.
“It’s also why I told you that story about Henri.The story about F2—I shouldn’t have told you that.”He pressed his palms together between his knees.“I was young and stupid, and what I did to Henri back then was wrong, period.I should apologize to him, too.”Our eyes finally met.“I only told you that because I wanted to drive a wedge between you two.I could see what was happening, and I thought if I made you doubt him, you’d pull away and pick me.”
“I appreciate you saying that.”I chewed my lower lip, tasting the remnants of my lip balm.“And Henri… He’d appreciate an apology.”I wasn’t so sure about the last bit, but it felt right in the moment.Deep down, I believed that leaving negative energy in the universe would come back to haunt us.If there could be some peace between Ollie and Henri, that would be a win.
“Yeah, well.”He gave a half-smile.“It’s long overdue.”
His gaze drifted past me, toward the desk by the window where I’d spread out the notes earlier that morning.I’d been photographing them for safekeeping, arranging them in order, and hadn’t bothered to put them away.
