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Georgie sniffed. “Oh, Ollie. I’m so sorry.”
“You weren’t to know.”
“No, but we practically forced you to join us there.” She cringed. “And then I made you meet him on our date. You must’ve been beside yourself.”
“A bit, but you helped, being there—the loveliest, most supportive woman I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah, so lovely I almost blew your cover by asking him about living in Sweden.” Georgie slipped the papers back in the manila envelope.
“It’s fine. He didn’t recognize me.” Oliver held up a sealed envelope. “Here’s the pièce de résistance: the letter my mother left me when she died.”
“Open if you intend to meet William McNally.” Looking up from the beautiful penmanship on the outside, Georgie wiped her eyes. “Why haven’t you read it?”
“And open Pandora’s box?”
“But aren’t you tempted?”
Oliver worried his bottom lip. “What will reading this bring me? More anger? Resentment? Disappointment?”
“Or a better understanding of why things happened like they did. Your mother loved you dearly, Ollie. I doubt she would’ve written something to upset you.”
He dragged his hand through his hair. “But what if I read this, go see Will, and he rejects me?”
“I’d like to think he wouldn’t, but”—Georgie’s nostrils flared—“then again, I never expected him to have a secret son either.” Dampening her anger for Oliver’s sake, she stroked his cheek. “Look, you don’t have to open it if you don’t want to. Maybe some things are better left unknown.”
“That’s definitely been my modus operandi, playing it safe.”
“Has it?” asked Georgie. “’Cause you haven’t played it safe with me. Confessing your feelings to me on Yonge Street was pretty fearless.”
“You think?”
Looking into his eyes, she nodded. “After I labelled us ‘friends’? Yeah, what you did took guts.”
He glanced away and didn’t say another word. Georgie had no clue what was rolling around in his mind until he grabbed the envelope’s back flap and tore it straight off.
THIRTY-ONE
OLIVER
“I, uh—wow.” Wide-eyed, Georgie couldn’t seem to find any words.
She wasn’t the only one. Pulse pounding, mouth parched, Oliver glided his shaky fingers across the folded letter, the indentations left behind by his mother’s handwriting a familial secret code. He’d studied the pasts of Egyptian kings and queens for years, but when it came to examining his own, Oliver felt completely ill-equipped and overwhelmed.
Georgie chewed the inside of her cheek. “If you want privacy, I can go.”
If he’d opened the letter months earlier, Oliver would’ve shut her out, pushed her away, but not now. Georgie was his rock. He clutched her hand. “No. Stay…if that’s okay?”
She squeezed back. “Of course.”
Letting go, Oliver unfolded the letter with the utmost care like it was the most delicate of ancient manuscripts. “It’s in English.” A memory blooming, he fought a tentative smile. “When I moved to the UK for uni, Ma rarely spoke to me in Swedish anymore. She wanted me to fully immerse myself in my new British life.”
“She must’ve been so proud of you,” Georgie whispered.
Oliver blew out his lips and began reading aloud.
My darling Oliver, light of my life,
The day you were born was my happiest. Although you weren’t planned, you were the greatest gift I could ever hope for.
