Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
OLIVER
“You brought flowers!”
Shea beams at me as she stands in the doorway, her gaze moving to the large bouquet I’m holding. Her cheeks go pink as she says, “Lilies. You remembered.”
“How could I forget?” I hold out the bundle of pink and cream-colored flowers to her. With a smile, I add, “I think I bought them for you enough.”
“You did. Every week.” As she takes the bouquet from me, her expression sobers. Her voice dips in apology. “Oliver. I’m really?—”
“Hey.” Catching her free hand, I give it a little squeeze. “You don’t need to say it again, Shea. We’ve been through it.”
“Still.” She tilts her head back to meet my gaze. “I just… want you to know how sorry I am. That I’ll never do something like that again.”
As it has ever since Shea told me the truth two nights ago, the heavy weight of guilt settles on my chest. It’s the same weight that I held onto for months—years, really—after Maya was hurt. Guilt that I wasn’t there, that I failed the people I love the most.
Yes, Shea made mistakes back then, but so did I.
But if we’re going to have a chance of working things out, playing the blame game isn’t going to help, and neither will constant apologies.
Gently, I say, “I know you are. And so am I.”
Her brow wrinkles. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Oll.”
I can tell this is something we’ll have to work on—this insistence on Shea’s part that everything was her fault. Just like I’ll have to work to make sure my guilt doesn’t overshadow what I could have with Shea.
What could we have? It’s a question that’s dogged me the last two days.
After being apart for so long, is there a possibility of getting back what we lost?
We dated for almost three years. Long enough to be in love. Long enough to think about marriage after the next promotion that would bring me back to Langley. Long enough to slow down as I passed by jewelry stores, wondering what kind of ring Shea would want.
But I was determined to stick to my plan; the one I came up with when I was still in high school and serious relationships were the last thing on my mind. I dreamed of rising up the hierarchy of the clandestine services, making a name for myself within the CIA, and eventually becoming Director one day.
Could I have made it to the top? Maybe. I had the skills—fluency in four languages, a degree in international relations, and an aptitude for covert operations. It’s possible, had I put in my time, I could have achieved my goal.
At what price, though? Already, my old job cost me so much. Time with Maya. The ability to protect her. And regardless of what Shea thinks, I know I was partly responsible for the end of our relationship.
Now we have another chance. And now that I have Shea back in my life, I’m going to do whatever I can to keep her there.
It’s like what she said the other night. That she convinced herself she was happy, that her life was enough. But all it took was seeing me again to realize it wasn’t the same.
I feel the same way. Not to diminish the good things in my life—Maya and her new little family, the job I’ve come to love, my friends, even my house that constantly seems to need something repaired—but the way I feel when I’m with Shea is different. Better .
“You know what?” I ask, more than ready to change the subject. With a glance at my watch, I continue, “Our reservations are in fifteen minutes. And it’ll take us ten to get there. So how about we get your flowers in some water and head out?”
“Oh. Yes.” Shea nods, her lips curving up again. “We don’t want to be late. Let me grab a vase and I’ll be ready in a second.” As she hurries into the kitchen, she calls over her shoulder, “Where are we going, anyway?”
“Giuseppe's. In Scarsdale. A couple of people at work told me it’s amazing.” And the menu has a large selection of choices, so hopefully there’ll be something Shea will feel comfortable eating. She said she’s doing okay, but I just want to make sure she’s not triggered by anything.
“Oh, I’ve heard of it.” Coming back into the living room, she sets the flower-filled vase on one of the end tables and hurries over to me. “One of my coworkers just went a few weekends ago and she said it was the best Italian food she’s ever had.”
“Good.” I open the front door and take a step outside, scanning the surroundings before gesturing for Shea to join me. With my hand on her back—yes, protectively, but also just because I want to touch her—I lead her to my car. “I checked out the menu online, and it looks pretty good. Plenty of choices.”
As she gets into the car, she meets my gaze. Gently, she says, “It’ll be fine, Oll. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Impossible.” Just before I shut the passenger door, I reach down to stroke my finger across her cheek. “I’ll always worry about you.”
It’s true. I worried about Shea all the time back when I was traveling. But my fears were of external threats—burglars, muggers, stalkers—not the internal ones. I thought a top-notch security system at her apartment and an array of self-defense tools would keep her safe. Stupidly, I never imagined the biggest threat to Shea would be herself.
Once I’m in the driver’s seat, Shea turns to me with a soft look in her eyes. “I’ve always worried about you, too.”
Oof.
I know she didn’t mean it in a negative way, but I have to wonder. Did the dangerous nature of my job trigger her? Even though the majority of what I did was confidential and I tried to diminish the risks of my job, Shea had to know.
Shit.
“My job at the Sleepy Hollow PD is pretty safe,” I tell her once we’re on the road. “Just so you know. It’s rare I even arrest anyone. Most of the time, I’m just patrolling and answering calls for fender benders.”
Well. Except for some of the things Blade and Arrow’s been mixed up in. And some pretty crazy incidents involving some of my friends. Like Ian’s wife’s crazed stalker. And the crap that went down with Scarlett and Grant.
Oh. There was also Cash and Ari’s whole situation with his brother. And then there was the time the library was set on fire with Thea still in it.
But those were the exception, not the rule. Most of the time, when it comes to crime, Sleepy Hollow is just that. Sleepy. Calm. Quiet.
“Well,” Shea replies, “I know being a police officer is still a dangerous job. But I know you’re really good at it. Probably the best in the whole department. With what you used to do… how could you not be?”
A burst of pride brings warmth to my chest. “I’m pretty good.”
“Oll. I saw you practicing, remember? All the target shooting? Your crazy driving skills? That martial art thing that made you look like you were in an action movie?”
My lips twitch. “Krav Maga?”
“Yes. That.” Shea grins. “So I’m not guessing how good you are. I know.”
Emotion thickens my throat.
She was always so supportive. So convinced that I could do whatever I set my mind to.
Not was. Is.
I can’t ruin this.
In this moment, with the woman I never stopped loving sitting right beside me, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt I’ll do anything to make this work.
“This really is the best Italian food I’ve ever had.”
Setting her fork on her empty dessert plate, Shea looks at it with a mournful expression. “That tiramisu was incredible. I’m actually sad it’s gone.”
“We can order another one,” I offer. “Just say the word.”
“No, that’s okay.” She smiles, her face lit with the glow from the candles at the center of the table. Bits of gold and amber catch in her eyes, turning them to a star-touched night sky. “I’m stuffed. But I’ll definitely be thinking about that tiramisu for a while.”
“We can come any time you want. In fact, how about this weekend? I work the three to eleven on Saturday, but we could come Sunday. Or Monday.”
Too quickly, she replies, “Oh, no, Oll. That’s okay.”
Oh.
Disappointment sweeps through me.
Does she not like it here? Is the night not going as well as I thought? Or am I rushing things, pushing for another date before she’s ready?
“Okay.” I work to keep my tone light. “That’s fine. We don’t have to come here again.”
Shea leans across the table and grabs my hand. “That’s not what I meant.” She glances around the small dining room, a simple but elegant space filled with softly twinkling lights, gleaming walnut tables, and hand-painted landscapes from Italy decorating the walls. “I love it here.”
“Then why?—”
“It’s just… a lot. Reserving the whole room just for us, plus all the food… I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this every time we go out.”
Turning Shea’s hand over, I rub my thumb across her palm. “I don’t feel like I have to do anything. I brought you here because I know you like Italian food. As for reserving the room, that’s something I wanted to do.”
“Because it’s safer.”
“Yes. And this way, I can enjoy my time with you instead of watching everyone else in the room.”
It’s not something I wanted to bring up tonight, but it was kind of hard to avoid when the owner of the restaurant first escorted us into the private room. So I quickly explained how it would be safer eating on our own, and as a bonus, we’d get to talk without any distractions.
Am I still on guard? Absolutely. With the two men in the van still unidentified and on the loose, Shea’s still at risk. We’re working hard to find them—sorting through hours of security footage from the area, checking satellite footage, and trying to run facial recognition on the small portions of the two men’s faces that we can see.
Unfortunately, between the police and Blade and Arrow, we’re not making progress nearly as fast as I’d hoped.
With things as they are, the safest bet would be to stay at home. But what kind of date would that be? Making Shea cook for me? Bringing over pizza? Attempting to prepare something edible on my own? No thanks. Instead, I did a little prep work to make sure Guiseppe’s is safe.
First, I hit up Leo to hack into the security cameras at the restaurant. So he’s watching from home to make sure no one suspicious approaches. Then I recruited Kane to sit in the main dining room as a lookout, which he was more than happy to do.
When I asked him yesterday, he said with a laugh, “A free meal at Giuseppe’s and you’ll stop walking around with that gloomy look on your face? Sign me up.”
I didn’t look gloomy. Contemplative, maybe. But since he was agreeing to help me out, I let it go.
“Well.” Shea takes a sip of her wine. “I love that you wanted to do all this. And make sure it’s safe.”
“Did you enjoy it? The food? The restaurant?” I pause. “The date?”
“Of course.” It’s quick. Certain. “I loved all of it.”
As she leans forward to set down her wine glass, the neckline of her dress dips, exposing a hint of cleavage. There’s some sort of shimmery stuff on her skin, not a lot, but enough to make me wonder where else she has it.
Lips curving up, Shea asks, “Did you just look at my boobs?”
“Maybe. Is that bad?”
“No.” Pink touches her cheeks. “Why do you think I wore this dress?”
Oh.
I can feel myself getting hard. My pants are suddenly much too tight.
Shit.
I know it’s much too soon. Aside from when I held Shea on the couch the other night, all we’ve done is hold hands. Just because sex—no, not sex, making love—used to be incredible doesn’t mean we’re anywhere close to that.
That doesn’t mean I can’t think about it, though.
“Do you like the dress?” There’s a teasing glint in her eyes.
She’s wearing this wrap dress made of a flowy rose-colored fabric that drapes across the swell of her breasts and dips into a slight V between them. And while I can’t see it now, I definitely noticed how nice Shea’s ass looks in her dress, with just enough stretch in the fabric to cling to it.
“Yes,” I reply. “I love the dress.” Then I go for broke and add, “You look beautiful. If that’s alright to say.”
Pleasure brightens Shea’s face. “It’s more than alright. And you?—”
“Ahh, and how were the desserts?”
Shea jolts as our server comes into the room, his ebullient voice reaching us before him. Even though I know Kane cleared the guy before letting him in, my muscles still tense, and my hand twitches towards the Glock I have tucked inside my jacket.
After a brief hesitation, Shea smiles at him. “They were wonderful. Thank you so much for the recommendations. The tiramisu was just…”
“Scrumptious, right?” He pats his stomach as he nods at her. “That’s what I have at the end of each shift.”
“They were very good,” I add pleasantly, though what I really want is to tell him to leave us alone. That Shea and I were sharing a moment, she was flirting with me, and I want to get back to that instead of talking about dessert.
“Can I interest you in a digestivi?” Our server—Mario, I think—whips out a small leather folder. “We have an excellent limoncello, or a sambuca. Or perhaps an espresso? If you’d like to look at the drink menu…”
Shea glances at me with her eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”
I think I want to keep this date going as long as possible.
“I’ll have an espresso,” I tell Mario. “Since I’m driving.”
“An espresso sounds perfect,” Shea agrees. “Thank you.”
I watch him carefully as he leaves, only relaxing once he’s gone. Then I take Shea’s hand again, this time twining her slender fingers between mine. “So. I don’t want to rush you, but I’m wondering… how soon is too soon to see you again?”
“Hmm.” Tiny lines etch between her eyes as she thinks. “What’s your schedule like?”
“I’m working seven to three, except on Saturday. Then I’m on the three to eleven shift. Sunday I’m off. And then back to the seven to three schedule all next week. I told Maya I’d have dinner with her on Sunday night, but I could reschedule if you wanted to do something. Unless that’s too soon. You tell me.”
Wow. That was spectacularly un -smooth.
A hesitant smile lifts her lips. “What do you think about tomorrow, then? Would that be okay?”
“Yes. That would be perfect.” Immediately, I start running through possible dates. On such short notice, I’d rather take Shea someplace I know. Not the Hop-less Horseman, of course; I’m sure that’s the last place she wants to go. But maybe O’Henry’s, the Irish restaurant in Sleepy Hollow. Or the Horse and Ghost—they have unique drinks and sharable platters that Shea might like. Unless she’d rather stay home. I could bring takeout and we could watch a movie…
“Mini golf is probably out of the question, isn’t it?” A moment later, Shea shakes her head. “Of course it is. Never mind.”
A pang of bittersweet nostalgia hits me. That was one of our favorite things to do when we were together. We’d go to the mini-golf place near Shea’s apartment, and after, we’d head over to the line of food trucks just a few blocks over. We’d get something from each of them and make a little picnic in the park across the street.
We were playing mini-golf the first time I told Shea I loved her. And she got so excited, she jumped on me and nearly knocked both of us into the water hazard.
Man. Those were such good times. Perfect times, really.
Why did I decide to leave? Why didn’t I just stay in Virginia and make a life with Shea?
“Sorry, Oll.” Regret lacing her voice, she adds, “Forget I mentioned it. Anything you want to do is fine.”
“No. I’m glad you did.” Before I can rethink it, I get up and move my chair so it’s next to Shea. Then I sit back down and enfold her hands in mine. “I was just thinking about it. How much fun we had.”
“We did, didn’t we?” And there’s that same regret in her eyes.
“We’ll go. Maybe not tomorrow, but as soon as we can,” I promise. “I’ll find the best mini-golf course for us to go to. And Sleepy Hollow does this food truck corral, something like twenty trucks show up at the park downtown every Thursday night in the summer. So we could do that, too.”
“Oh.” Shea brightens. “That would be awesome.” After a brief pause, she adds, “But for tomorrow… what do you think about something more low-key? Like coming over to watch a movie? And ordering delivery?”
“That sounds great.” And I mean it. This date has been fantastic, but sitting at Shea’s house, holding hands on the couch, maybe even snuggling a little if things go well—that sounds pretty fantastic, too.
Then a thought strikes me. “Wait. Are you going to make me watch one of those creepy movies? One of the ones with a doll getting possessed by a demon? Or a bunch of people locked in a house filled with murderous ghosts?”
“Um.” She gives me a sheepish smile. “It’s just that there’s this new movie that just hit streaming. It looks really scary.” Eyes widening, she adds hopefully, “It might be too much for me to watch by myself. But if you’re there…”
I’ve never minded watching horror movies with Shea, really. It’s just fun to give her a hard time about them. Honestly, it used to be pretty great—whenever she’d get scared, she’d burrow into my arms and I’d hold her until the worst part was over.
Hiding a smile, I reply, “Well, I wouldn’t want you to be scared.”
“You wouldn’t mind? If you’d rather watch something about”—her nose wrinkles, and it’s the cutest thing ever—“history, we can.”
“No, your movie works. And I can grab food on my way over.”
“Okay.” She pauses before adding sweetly, “Maybe we could watch one of those shows on the History Channel after. If it’s not too late.”
Distractedly, I realize my cheeks hurt from smiling.
I’m just so happy .
Joy is fizzing inside me, bursting to get out.
Then.
As we look at each other, there’s this click .
Like two matching pieces finally coming together.
Shea doesn’t need to say anything. It’s all there, in her eyes.
Hope. Desire. Affection.
And maybe the same love I still feel for her.
“Oll…”
“Shea?”
I want to kiss her more than anything, and I think she wants it, too. But I don’t want to assume. Take something she’s not yet ready to give.
“I want…” Her teeth dig into her lip. Pink rushes to her cheeks. “I want to kiss you. I’ve been thinking about it all night.”
And that’s the permission I need.
Leaning forward, I cup Shea’s cheek. Her skin is like the softest silk beneath my fingers.
As she moves towards me, her lips part. I’m close enough to see her pulse fluttering in her neck and the little flush rising across her chest.
Though I’m desperate to kiss her, I also want to take my time. Commit each tiny detail to memory.
The way her pupils dilate, leaving just a thin ring of blue around them.
The feel of her hand on my leg as she uses it for balance.
Her scent wrapping around me, a sultry aroma of vanilla and musk.
A breath away from each other, time seems to slow.
Everything else fades in importance.
It’s just us. Finally coming together again.
Then we kiss.
But it’s so much more than that.
It’s feeling Shea’s soft lips against mine, tasting of coffee and chocolate and sugar.
It’s the tiny nips she gives me before stroking away the slight sting with her tongue.
It’s her hand on my neck, tugging me closer.
It’s the zips of electricity and heat racing through my body.
Kissing Shea feels like coming home.
Unexpectedly, my eyes burn.
I didn’t realize how much I missed her.
While I could kiss Shea for hours, would love nothing more than to pull her onto my lap and ravage her, logic tells me it’s not the time or place. Not in a restaurant with our server about to come back with our drinks. And not on our official second first date.
So I pull away, hating every second of it.
But it’s not the only time. There’ll be many more kisses. I’ll make sure of it.
Shea blinks at me, her gaze slowly refocusing. Her lips are rosy and kiss-swollen, and I gently run my thumb across them. She starts, “That was?—”
“Perfect.” I kiss her softly this time, only lingering for a second. “It was perfect.”
“Yeah.” Her smile is radiant. “It really was.”