Chapter 6 Oliver #2
Her eyes widened a fraction, like she really wasn’t expecting me to say that.
I liked surprising her, and I leaned my elbows onto the island counter, waiting for her to respond.
I used the time to admire the way the hoodie crept up a bit when she crossed her arms. Half an inch of skin was showing, and it looked as smooth as her neck.
“What’s it gonna be, Doc?”
“Why would you want to ask me questions?”
“Because I find you fascinating.” There, that was the truth. I wanted to know what made her want this job, why she was here, why she didn’t confront those assholes in the break room. “Now do we have a deal?”
She scoffed before sliding onto the barstool near the island. “The only reason I’m staying is because I really want French toast.”
“Atta girl. I do make a mean one.”
She pulled up one leg, wrapping her arm around her knee as she eyed me whisking the eggs. “Have you always been this…charming?”
“Yes.” I smirked. “From birth, baby.”
She smiled, the first real one of the evening. “I can see that. Are you the oldest or youngest?”
“Oldest.”
“You can tell a lot about a person from the sibling order.” Her eyes lit up. “I bet you take responsibility for things that aren’t yours. You probably apologized for stuff before anyone asked you to. Learned how to be good at everything so no one had to worry about you.”
“Thank god the iPad isn’t here, because that sounded like an analysis, Doc, and I forbid any of that if you want my toast.” I narrowed my eyes at her, teasing but pretending to be mad. “However, I answered your question, so I get one.”
“Go for it.” She hugged her knee tighter but leaned forward as I dipped the bread in the egg mixture.
“Did you customize your shoes?”
She choked, a laugh bursting out of her. “That’s your question?”
I nodded, smiling at her quickly before returning my gaze to the French toast in the pan. It was essential to not let it burn. “The Vans with the little beasts on them. Did you design them yourself?”
“I did, yeah.”
“I love them.” I smiled at her. “You noted my citrus shoes, but those are the beginning. Fun fact about me to file away, Doc, is that I have a shoe collection.”
“Oh my god, me too.” She set her leg down, instead leaning onto the counter. Her eyes were brighter now, and seeing her open like this made something in my chest unclench.
“I knew I liked you for a reason,” I said, flipping the toast. “Alright, next question. Go.”
She narrowed her eyes like she didn’t trust me to keep things friendly. “Okay. Favorite pair in your collection?”
I smirked. “My red-and-white Jordans, high-tops. I only wear them on away-game days when I need the universe to behave.”
“Superstitions?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Half my personality is rituals. Certain music, same breakfast, specific hoodie during warm-ups. Don’t mess with the system.”
“That tracks,” she muttered, reaching for her water. “You give off very specific hoodie energy.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
She shrugged, coy. “Depends on the hoodie.”
“You’re brutal,” I said, plating her French toast with precision. “Here you go, miss ‘two minutes and I’m out.’”
She looked down at the plate and then back at me, her smile blooming again. “I said two minutes. I never it couldn’t repeat.”
“Cheater.” I slid into the stool next to her, close enough that our knees bumped again.
She didn’t move away.
I bit into my toast and let out a content sigh. “Damn. I really am good.”
“You’re gonna eat your own cooking and then compliment yourself out loud?”
“I’m an only child at heart,” I said, mouth full. “Gotta hype myself up.”
She took her first bite and made a soft noise of approval. That sound should’ve been illegal coming from her mouth with her looking like she did, smiling and leaning into me. “This is delicious.”
“It’s the extra cinnamon that really brings the flavor.” I took another bite but really wanted to watch her reactions. She cut small pieces and took her time eating, savoring almost. She crossed her eyes, letting out that throaty sound again.
“I apologize for ever considering turning this down. Please, anytime you need extra eggs for French toast, let me know.”
That sounded like an open invitation, and I grinned. I had plans to stop by immediately to ask for ingredients, even if I had my own. “I believe it’s my question now. So, what is your favorite pair of shoes you own?”
Her eyes lit up like I’d asked her something deeply profound. She wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb and leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “Oh, that’s a tough one.”
“Doc, you should’ve been prepared. I only ask the hard-hitting stuff.”
She tapped her fork against her plate, thinking.
“Okay, fine. It’s a pair of high-top white Converse with hand-painted lilac flowers on the sides.
I found the artist on Instagram, sent them my old shoes, and they came back like wearable art.
I’ve only worn them twice because I’m afraid of scuffing them. ”
“Custom shoes and sentimental. I’m impressed,” I said, nudging her foot lightly under the counter. “Didn’t peg you for a Converse girl.”
“I contain multitudes,” she said, mock serious. “You think you’ve got me figured out, but I’m always one step ahead.”
I grinned and raised my hands in surrender. “Duly noted. You’re full of mystery and hand-painted footwear.”
“That I am, Oliver.” She took another sip of her drink, watching me from over the rim with too much amusement. “Okay, my question now. Hm…”
She tapped her finger against her glass, eyes narrowing like she was scanning through a deck of questions in her head. I watched her, both nervous and turned on by how focused she looked.
“I want the real deep stuff,” she said. “The super difficult questions.”
I leaned in, elbows on the counter. “Hit me.”
She studied me for another second, eyes searching. “What’s your game-day ritual?”
I blinked. “That’s your deep question?”
“It tells me everything I need to know,” she said, deadpan. “Are you one of those guys who listens to violent rap music and punches lockers? Or do you listen to like… Coldplay and cry in the hot tub?”
I barked out a laugh. “Jesus. Okay, wow. First of all, I do not cry in hot tubs. Nothing against crying, men should show emotion, but that’s not… me.”
“Okay, so no to that part.”
I sighed, finishing my last bite before saying, “I’m more of a no-music-before-warm-up guy.
I like silence. I run through plays in my head.
I eat the same protein bar exactly 90 minutes before kickoff.
I re-tape my wrist even if it’s fine. And I put my left sock on before my right every time. Superstition, not logic.”
She nodded, absorbing it. “That tracks.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
She smiled sweetly. “You’re a control freak with a repressed need for consistency.”
I stared at her. “Hey, you said no analysis.”
“You said no analysis,” she said, completely unbothered. “I made no such agreement.”
I rolled my eyes and nudged her foot again, this time with intent. “Fine. Now I want a real answer from you.”
She smiled at her plate, then glanced at me sideways. “Alright, that’s fair.”
I twirled my fork, pretending to think while I watched her out of the corner of my eye. “What’s the last thing that made you really laugh?”
She blinked, thrown for a second. Then that smile returned, softer now. “At work?”
“Anywhere. Doesn’t matter. Something that got you.”
“There’s a video I watch when I need a reset. It’s this golden retriever who tries to carry an entire rake through a doggie door for like five minutes. He keeps trying different angles, totally determined. I lost it last night watching him get mad at a rake.”
I laughed, probably harder than I should have. “That’s elite content. I respect a dog with a problem-solving agenda.”
“He finally made it through and looked so proud, like he saved the world,” she said, eyes crinkling as she shook her head. “It just… got me.”
I smiled at her, chest warm. “That’s the best answer you could’ve given.”
She rested her chin on her hand, blinking slowly. “Alright, James. Final question. Make it count.”
“Easy,” I said, pushing my plate aside. “Why did you really come by my door tonight?”
Her breath caught—so quick I wouldn’t have noticed it if I wasn’t watching.
She sat back slightly, arms crossing over her chest. “I told you. I had a question for the report.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You have my number. You could’ve messaged me or called.”
“Okay, fine.” She exhaled, but she didn’t look away. “Maybe I didn’t want to be alone with the report. Maybe I didn’t want to guess at what you were feeling. And maybe I… didn’t hate the idea of talking to you.”
I didn’t say anything for a second. I let the silence settle, the good kind this time. The kind that didn’t demand a response.
Then I leaned in a little. “I like talking to you too, Doc.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling again, all soft and slightly tired. “I should go.”
“Probably,” I said, but I didn’t move and neither did she.
We sat like that for a moment. Like if either of us blinked too long, the spell would break. Then she slid off the stool and grabbed her tablet. “Thanks for the toast.”
“Thanks for the company.”
She made it to the door before turning back. “You better be honest with me tomorrow.”
I held her gaze. “I’ll try.”
She gave me a look that said she knew that was the best I could give her. Then she left, and I stood in my kitchen, smelling cinnamon and trying not to think about how good her laugh sounded when it was just for me.