Chapter 21 Ollie
OLLIE
What the hell is going on? Phoebe’s lying to me, and I don’t know why.
We’ve always been honest with each other.
We’re best friends—at least, I thought we were.
I believe nothing physical happened between her and Nick other than kissing.
I hate that any man got to enjoy that before I did, but I understand she had a life before me.
What she’s done before doesn’t matter. It’s okay that I’m not the first. But I want to be the last. The only.
What hurts is that she’s friends with Stone.
Good friends. They were having a silent conversation.
That’s our thing. I thought it was a special connection between us.
But it’s not. She has it with him too. Maybe she connects with everyone.
She’s friendly and outgoing; she draws people to her.
Of course she’s going to have friends. I want her to have friends.
But not better friends than me. She’s my best friend, and I want to be her best friend too.
Okay, I want to be so much more than that.
I love her and want to make our engagement real.
I want her to be my wife. It’s my dream to have a family with her.
We could have a wonderful life together.
I think maybe she’s starting to think of me that way.
Or was. Suddenly, it feels like she’s pulling away from me, and I don’t know why.
Does she regret the necessity of presenting ourselves as an engaged couple to the world?
The days when it was only us at the cottage were wonderful, and I’ve never felt closer to Phoebe—or to anyone in my life.
It was like the real world didn’t exist, and it was us being ourselves, and it was magical.
I miss that, and it’s not even been a full day.
So if my dream for the future can’t come true, I’m going to make damn sure Phoebe’s does. I’ll do whatever’s necessary for her to win the contest and be recognized as the incredible baker she is.
The shower stops, and I hear her moving around the bedroom.
Leaning back on the sofa with my hands linked behind my head, I indulge my imagination by picturing her drying off and getting dressed.
I wonder if she uses body lotion. I’d give up hockey to be the person spreading lotion over all that smooth skin.
My phone vibrates with a text. It’s my family’s group text. Shit.
Mom: You’re ENGAGED? To Phoebe? OUR PHOEBE???
Violet: About damn time.
Mom: Violet Marie! Language!
I snicker. Violet thought our last name was “Language” because Mom was always first and middle naming us and then saying “language” to reprimand us when we were growing up.
Violet: What? He’s been mooning over her for years.
Before I get a chance to respond, a separate text from only my brother pops up.
Finn: WTF happened? What’s going on with you and Phoebe?
Mine is the only family I know that texts in complete sentences to each other. Whenever we use text-speak, Mom pretends she doesn’t understand and calls us to talk. So for Finn to use WTF shows he’s freaked.
Me: Easier to tell you with everyone, join the family text thread.
Now that we’re all in the same thread, I keep it simple.
Me: 1. We’re engaged.
2. We don’t have a wedding date set yet.
3. We’re getting ready to go to dinner.
4. Everything’s good. I love you. We’ll talk later.
Well, that’s handled.
Phoebe pokes her head out of the bedroom. Her hair is wrapped in a towel, and she’s wearing a hotel robe.
“Do you still want to go to dinner?” Phoebe asks.
Turning my head, I look at her in confusion. “Yeah, don’t you? We can get room service if you’d rather.”
“No,” she says. “I want to go, wasn’t sure if you did.”
I rise from the sofa. “Do you need the bathroom still, or can I take a shower?”
“Go ahead, I can finish what I need to do in the bedroom.”
There are things I want to finish in the bedroom too, but that’s not happening.
Not tonight. I showered after practice, so technically I don’t need this, but standing under the spray is giving me the time and space to be alone with my thoughts.
Maybe I’ve been wrong about our friendship and it’s not as deep on her side as it is on mine.
We’ve never spent time alone in person for extended periods of time.
Family has always been around, or we’ve texted and spoken on FaceTime.
Maybe I’ve imagined our connection and what we have isn’t special.
I don’t really believe that. We’re supposed to be together. I’m built to love Phoebe Albright. Now to get her to love me back. Starting with dinner.