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My steps falter as my brain tries to compute what my eyes are seeing. It’s a lot, especially when I’m not thinking clearly, when anger, pain, and curiosity blend into a racket within my body and become indistinguishable from one another, leaving me feeling defenseless. And I fucking hate feeling like this. Hate that he’s the reason why. Anger it is, then.
Oliver gazes at me over his shoulder while stirring the contents of the pan with his left hand, corded muscles lacing around his forearm as he does. “Dinner will be ready in a few.”
“I’m not hungry.” My stomach chooses that exact moment to betray me. “Is there a coffee shop or a bar in the area?”
Oliver stops stirring, turning to look at me like I’m deranged. “You want to go out? Now?” He looks through the window as if to prove his point. It’s pitch-black. There’s not a lamppost in sight.
Probably not the smartest idea, but I’m beyond that point. “I just need a breather.”
“Okay, well, let me at least drive you.” He wipes his hands on the cloth on his shoulder. “The Fir Café is closed, and the bar is two kilometers down the main road.”
I shake my head, pulling my eyes away from his fingers pressing into his biceps as he crosses his arms. “I’ll walk. So, down the road?”
Oliver frowns. “Charlee, it’s late already. It’s not safe to walk alongside the road at this hour, especially when you don’t know the surroundings.”
“I have my phone. If anything happens, I’ll call you.”
Oliver stares at me. “On which number?”
Right . . . I forgot about that. We’ve never exchanged numbers. Gosh, I can’t believe now is the first time I’m going to enter Oliver’s info in my phone.
Once our numbers are exchanged, I put on my hiking boots and pull my socks up to my shins. “Don’t wait up for me,” I say when I open the door.
Oliver doesn’t even bother to answer.
“And so I told her, ‘Miss, this is not how we do business in the real world, but with skirts like that, you’ll make one hell of a secretary.’”
Raucous laughter erupts around the man in the suit standing at the bar.
All guys, of course.
The man, with his hair slicked back with a shitload of gel, takes a sip of his drink. He’s basking in the attention, a wry smile on his face. I shake my head from where I’m sitting in my booth and take another swig of my beer. What a load of bullshit.
“Everything okay here, honey?” the waitress asks, a tray of drinks in hand.
“Can I have another one, please?” I point to my empty beer bottle.
The waitress smiles at me, and I detect the hint of pity. I can’t blame her. If I were looking at myself, I’d pity me too. I’ve been drinking alone for the past two hours, reveling, for once in my life, in the discomfort of my loneliness.
I bring the glass to my lips again. I’ve had, what, three, four beers? Plus a shot, courtesy of the bartender himself. I’m slowly losing my control.
My head weighs less than feathers, as if gravity has lost its hold on it. My bad mood, my fears, my anxieties, and even my regrets slide easily down my throat with every sip I take.
I’ve almost forgotten where I am. With whom.
It almost doesn’t matter.
Almost.
If Oliver were here with me, I’d have enough drinks in me to face my fears and tell him how hard my heart broke when he left me on my own the day we were finally supposed to meet.
The promises made, the weeks spent writing, opening up and confiding in each other, growing feelings, and becoming one another’s person . . . Poof. It all went up in smoke in the space of a day.
Doesn’t he know what that does to someone? To lose such a vital part of oneself? Did he suffer from the loss too? Or was it just me? Was I the only one who almost broke their own rule every damn day that followed to not reach out to him?
“Need some company?”
The man in the suit is standing in front of me, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. Up close, his skin shines with sweat, likely from all the alcohol he’s swallowed since I arrived. Although his heavy build probably makes him more resistant to alcohol than me.
