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I set my phone down. “Is that your official good morning?”
He chuckles, sliding his hand into his pockets. “Listen, Charlee, I’m really sorry about earlier.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “If you want to take a bath now, I won’t disturb you, I promise.”
I wave him off. “It’s okay. I’ll take a quick shower before we leave.”
Truth is, the minute I set foot in that bathroom, I’m going to picture him right there in the tub. A quick shower is the safest bet. I wouldn’t be able to relax anyway now that we’re so close to leaving.
Oliver walks up to me, eyeing the plates on the counter. “What’s going on over here?”
I shrug. “Peace offering.”
His eyes find mine, and it’s irritating how much they throw me off every time. They’re tentative, cautious.
Well, good. Because as much as I’m waving the white flag, by no means am I forgetting. Or forgiving.
Just learning to coexist.
“Peace offering, huh?” Oliver’s mouth tilts upward slightly as he walks to the kitchen counter and pulls two mugs out of the cabinet.
I scoop the egg mixture onto two plates. “Don’t get too excited.”
“I’m not, but you’re talking, and that in itself is progress.”
God, have I been that awful since yesterday? You know you were, a little voice says in my head, but I tune it out.
I pick up the plates and settle them on the dinner table, plopping in one of the chairs with a frown.
“Coffee?” he asks.
“I think I should stick to caffeine-free drinks today.”
He hums, and it unnerves me. He does that often, I’ve noticed, but he never follows it with an explanation, so I’m left to wonder what his “hmm” means.
“I’ll make you an herbal tea, then.”
I watch him as he prepares my tea, tracking every movement he makes, so thorough, so meticulous. How strange is it that, after all these years, I can finally understand what it’s like to be in his presence? To experience firsthand what I knew to be true about him when he existed only as words on paper?
Oliver comes to the dinner table, setting two steaming mugs down, and starts digging into his plate. “Thank you for breakfast. It’s delicious. I didn’t know you cooked like this.”
“I manage. Nothing like you, I’m sure.”
He smiles. “Still, I appreciate it.”
We lock eyes for a second too long, enough for me to read more than what he says out loud.
I take a bite of my eggs, then swallow. “Listen, Oliver . . .”
“Charlee, there’s so much . . .” he blurts at the same time.
We both chuckle, and he waves for me to go first.
“I admit I came on a bit rough yesterday,” I say carefully. “To be fair, you were the last person I expected to see. I’ve slept on it, taken the time to process it.” I keep my gaze focused on him. I want him to know I’m not afraid, even though my body is screaming for me to flee. I clear my throat, my right leg bouncing. “Look. I’m not here to rekindle the past, or to dwell on it, or even get an explanation from you. I’m not looking for one, nor do I want you to feel like you need to provide any level of clarification. I’m here because I have a job to do, and so do you. It just so happens that we’ve been chosen to do the same one. I don’t know about you, but I can’t let this project fail. I’m under a lot of pressure to get it right, and it needs my entire focus for the next two weeks. I can’t be distracted by the past. So I’m offering a truce.”
His eyebrow lifts.
I shake my head. “Not a truce, but you know what I mean. I want this to work—I need this to work—and whether I like it or not, that means doing it together. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior going forward. No more bitchy comments or attitude or getting drunk and having to make you come pick me up. But in exchange, at least for the next two weeks, I need you to stop trying to bring up our history. With me or with anyone else. Deal?”
Welp. There, I said it. It’s out of my mouth and out of my hands.
