Chapter 5 #2
I sat up straight, staring into the fire, wondering why I couldn’t just lean back and decompress. I sighed and let the flames swallow my thoughts, chaos and comfort all rolled up in one.
I leaned back, laughing at myself for the rigidity in my spine, slumping into the chair and absently reaching out for another truly awful candy.
Oliver returned, two oversized mugs and a bottle of vodka balanced on a tray in front of him. He set it carefully on the table. When he sat, his back was as straight as mine had been.
“It just seemed like a hot chocolate kind of night.”
“It’s definitely a hot chocolate kind of storm.” I countered. “Thank you, Oliver. You didn’t need to go to any trouble for me.”
He reached for the bottle, pausing with it in his grip as the flames spoke through his eyes. Was it just the fire making them twinkle, or was Oliver giving in and giving up his stress a bit too? Watching him certainly made me feel cozier.
“It really was no trouble, but also, it may have just been an excuse.” He lifted the bottle of vanilla vodka, presenting it as if he were a sommelier bringing us a well-appointed and complex pinot noir.
He looked directly at me then, and there was a little bit of mirth mixed in with his worry. “An excuse for this.” He poured some into one of the mugs, next hovering the bottle over the mug closer to me and questioning me with those amber eyes.
“Yes, please.” He poured, recorked the bottle, and leaned over to sip his before risking moving it. For not the first time, I thought him adorable.
“To winter weddings,” he said, picking up his mug. I may have rolled my eyes before I could stop myself.
“To winter storms,” I snarked, picking up mine to clink glasses.
“Are you really not looking forward to the festivities?” he asked innocently.
I took a sip of the chocolate cocktail, then let out a sigh.
“Oh, that sounds like a no,” he joked.
“Well, it’s my sister’s wedding, and …”
“Oh no, is the guy a jerk?” Oliver asked animatedly.
“Everyone says the couple is really sweet, but let me guess, is he really an asshole who you don’t get along with, but your sister adores him, so you can’t tell her and …
” His eyes danced, describing his fantasy version of my ennui.
Maybe I should stick with his story; it sounded more interesting and made someone else the bad guy even if it was unfair to Wamil.
“No!” I laughed. He looked directly at me, and it was the first time he seemed genuinely relaxed in my presence.
“That’s not it at all.”
I exaggerated my tone to sound highly disappointed. “Unfortunately, Wamil is perfectly lovely and adores my sister …”
Oliver was obviously enjoying his speculations, and I was enjoying the relaxed, natural side to him.
“Oh, I understand,” he exclaimed. “He’s so wonderful that you’ve fallen in love with him and can’t bear to stand as a groomsman when you want to be the groom.” His eyes danced as he flopped in his seat and sighed. “How romantic! I’m a bit of a romantic myself, you know.”
I looked around the room and out the window. “Well, you do currently live in a made-for-TV holiday romance, but you’re wrong again.”
I took a sip of my drink and pondered what to say.
“Actually, I am a bit of a romantic too. And that’s sort of the problem,” I confessed.
“Go on.”
“Gah, I’m going to sound like such an asshole.”
“Or you may sound like a guy who drove for how many hours in a harrowing storm, abandoning his car on the side of the road …”
“In a parking lot.”
“In a parking lot and then was kept awake by the pesky hotel owner, all to attend his beloved sister’s wedding.”
“You’re not keeping me up.” He looked at me, waiting for me to return to the topic at hand.
“All right, okay. My sister’s getting married.” His look conveyed the entire phrase, Obvs, I already knew that.
“My baby sister is getting married. And I’m one of seven groomsmen. Seven,” I fake whispered. “On top of which, I’ve spent the last year with my mother asking me if I’ve found a nice young man.” I mimicked her voice, and Oliver smiled.
“Funny,” he said. “That’s just how my gran sounded. The customer is always right, Ollie.” We laughed at each other or at ourselves.
Then he asked, “So, are you jealous?”
“Not of Wamil, precisely. I just thought …” I took another sip, letting the bite of the alcohol run through me, the sweetness of the flavoring a bright contrast.
“I always thought that romance was this big thing, this lighting-strike, take-no-prisoners moment. But Elise, she’s just happy every day. Wamil just makes her happy.”
“And you want that?”
“I guess I do.” I did, but why was I telling some stranger that in the middle of the night?
I finished my hot chocolate. Oliver grabbed both mugs. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered before taking off.
I picked up a handful of candy hearts and began popping them one by one into my mouth. I might not have realized what I was doing at first, but by the time there was one left in my palm, I determined that one was my fortune.
“Fortune candy,” I mumbled to the fire. It was either the most romantic thing ever or the silly notion of a man who’d drunk a vodka cocktail after midnight.
“Okay, crappy candy. Tell me my future.”
To read it, I had to lean forward and steal the firelight.
“Fuck me,” I read out loud. The message was not at all what I had expected.
Oh great, I thought. Even Valentine’s Day candy thought I was fucked in the romance department.
At least the little candies are funny, I thought, popping the fortune candy in my mouth before turning to pick up the little glass bowl and peruse some more.
That’s when I noticed Oliver standing there, two shot glasses in hand, staring at me agape.
“Oh, um … okay?”