Chapter 24
I’m so startled by Oliver’s presence I slide off the tree swing and not surprisingly fail to stick the landing. As I wobble, Gabriel rushes to my left arm, while Oliver grabs ahold of my right.
I look from boy to boy, unable to process my worlds colliding. Gabriel in worn dark jeans and a black T-shirt and Oliver in a perfectly tailored gray suit.
Gabe releases me first. He backs away, while Oliver steps close, chuckling. “That’s my Abigail. I swear if it weren’t for me, she’d have tripped at every one of her mom’s campaign stops.” Normally I’d correct Oliver about his exaggerations of my clumsiness, but I’m still at a loss for words.
Oliver practically snuck up on me and Gabe. Sure, nothing was happening between us, but we were having a moment. Weren’t we?
Oliver clears his throat and offers Gabe a handshake. I see the defiance in Gabe’s eyes, but he shakes his hand anyway in a quick, firm way like I’ve seen Mom do before a debate.
“Oliver,” I say. “You remember Gabriel Calabrese. You met at the state dinner.”
Oliver’s forehead wrinkles a millisecond before a fake friendly smile crosses his face.
“Yes! Of course. The boy in the sneakers, right?” He looks between us, laughing.
“I thought you were doing some kind of portrait session.” He looks Gabe up and down.
“Though those angles looked more intimate than typical.”
“Gabriel isn’t taking official photos, these are…for private use,” I say hurriedly. I don’t want Oliver to think Gabriel is working for the media, but I also don’t think I get to announce he’s applying for an art program when Gabe hasn’t even told his own mother.
Oliver frowns but says nothing more. “Abby, we’d better head out. We have reservations.”
“Same,” Gabriel says. “A bunch of us are hitting Mike’s Biscuits before the dance.”
Oliver chuckles. “I promised Abigail a fancy dinner and we’re getting one at my family’s resort. Chef LeMonde is preparing a special menu just for us.”
My chest tightens. Of course we’re going to the resort that is bankrupting Gabe’s inn. I check on Gabriel, who refuses to meet my eyes. Oliver, who’s never one for awkward silences, touches the small of my back. “We had better go.”
Not knowing what to say to Gabe, I search for anything. “I’ll see you at the dance.”
Oliver perks up. “The Founder’s Day thing?”
The storm in Gabriel’s eyes makes me shiver. “Yes,” he says, more like a challenge than a simple statement.
Oliver frowns as he looks at his watch. “Nice. We have dinner plans—”
“And so do I,” Gabriel says. “Glad you can knock a few more items off your list, Abby.” He mock bows before heading to his truck.
Oliver lifts his brows. “What list is this?”
I bite my lip. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” I’m relieved when he doesn’t ask me anything further because honestly, I have no answers—only questions having to do with the boy who’s left me, and not the one I’m walking away with.
I cast one last glance at Gabriel, then follow Oliver to his car.
Oliver’s silver BMW convertible pulls into the circular driveway in front of a stately white marbled building.
A water fountain lit by golden lights graces the resort’s entrance along with exotic flowers and shrubs.
The Commander Resort is all about high-end luxury, clean modern lines, and exclusivity.
Unlike Mystic Hollow Inn, with its cozy elegance and historic charm, warm and inviting to all.
Valets in red uniforms hurry to open our doors as soon as Oliver parks.
Soothing electronic music plays over speakers and the air smells like ginger and citrus—the signature Darby International Hotel scent.
Of course, not part of the resort’s staff are Shaw and Oliver’s agent lurking nearby.
It’s a familiar sight given how much time me and Oliver have spent together, but I’ve come to like the Shaw and Nessa duo.
As I grip Oliver’s arm and climb up the steps into the lobby, I imagine that this fulfills the expectations of what so many assumed—First Daughter Abigail Cary-Alzona on a date with her prince, Second Son Oliver Darby.
Budding American power couple. A near-certain fate for anyone who’s been watching these two teens grow up in each other’s orbits.
Two attendants swing open the Commander’s grand wood-and-glass doors, and we step into a modern rustic country-style lobby, complete with large wooden-beamed ceilings, ornate light fixtures, and massive oil paintings anchoring the space.
A sharply dressed hotel manager greets us with a flourish, her heels clicking across the beautifully tiled floor.
I catch the knowing glances from staff and guests—subtle nods of approval, though no one makes a scene. The resort’s manager appears and personally escorts us to the Commander’s restaurant, aptly named Chief.
We enter a space that feels like a trendy urban restaurant: low ambient light, sleek modern furniture with dark accents, and upbeat dance music.
It’s exactly the kind of place I was thinking of going for my foodie, parent-free dinner.
But having been enjoying the small-town charm of Mystic Hollow, this venue feels so out of place here. Or am I the one who’s out of place?
We’re seated at a table by a fancy fireplace.
It’s in a prime spot that seems like a see-and-be-seen kind of angle—not a private area like I expected.
“Does this meet your expectations?” Oliver says with a knowing smile as we settle in.
I nod. This certainly checks the box for a parent-free dinner, but I’m not 100 percent sure about my expectations.
I had a very different vision for this evening.
My mind wanders to Mike’s Biscuits, where Gabriel and his friends are probably enjoying hamburgers and the Pike Special from Pat’s. “It’s gorgeous,” I mumble.
“Only the best for Abigail,” he says. “You were missed in Hawaii,” he adds.
I stare at my golden plate settings. When I first arrived at Mystic Hollow, I would’ve said I missed being in Hawaii, but now I realize I don’t feel that way. Oliver continues, not at all waiting for my response. “But no worries. I’ve got plans for the rest of our summer once you’re back in DC.”
“I’ll be traveling with my mom for most of July, remember? Italy and the Mediterranean region for a couple weeks and then a volunteer trip.”
He grins. “I know. And wouldn’t you know it? My family has over seven hundred hotels all over the world.” I frown. Then why do they need to open one in Mystic Hollow and ruin Gabriel’s inn? He just seems so oblivious to the situation.
I stammer, uncertain how to bring up the jubilee. “Oliver, I’m just—”
“Starving,” Oliver finishes my sentence. “I know you and your hangry spells. Fortunately, Chef LeMonde has us covered.”
Our dinner is exquisite in taste and in size.
After seven courses, my taste buds have experienced a gastronomic tour de force, but because of the tiny portions, I can’t say I’m exactly satisfied either.
Quail legs and escargot can only go so far.
The conversation’s not much better. Oliver’s talking about boats again, and law school.
I blink. When did I start pretending that stuff was interesting? It’s like I dropped into his world and forgot there were other ones out there. Maybe Elle’s right. Are we just like Siri in human form? Preprogrammed and predictable?
My stomach flutters and then growls. My face reddens.
Oh no. I sincerely hope Oliver didn’t hear that!
A polite smile crosses Oliver’s face. “Dessert,” he says.
He snaps his fingers at a server, who rushes forward like he was summoned by a king.
The entitlement—was that always there? “Would you ask LeMonde for a tray of his desserts?”
“Actually—” I interrupt. Oliver blinks. I know he’s not used to being interrupted, but now and then I pull rank. Which I decide to do now. “I have an idea.”
Mike’s Biscuits n’ Burgers is busy. The restaurant glows with warm, inviting lights, old-school music, and laughter as Oliver pulls into a parking spot.
My shoulders start to relax as I hop out of the car.
This is where I wanted to be tonight. As I tug Oliver toward the diner, he glances at Pat’s ice cream parlor next door and frowns. “Are you going to the right place?”
I smile. “Absolutely. They have the best fries.”
Oliver frowns. “You said we’re getting dessert.”
I remember I thought the same thing when Gabriel introduced me to dipping my French fries in ice cream.
“The ice cream parlor and diner are owned by the same family—the two businesses are connected inside like a food hall,” I explain, waving him to follow me.
“Dessert is called the Pike Special. You’ll see! ”
As we step inside, it’s an inviting scene, even with our security detail lurking in the back.
People in red booths enjoying hearty burgers and even heartier laughs.
Families. Couples. And toward the back, I see a tall booth and recognize Kyle and the twins, but not the people sitting across from them.
I don’t see Gabe, and I don’t want to look obvious searching for him.
Kyle sees me and hollers my name. Billie does the same, and her twin, Jaisha, sticks her head out and gestures for me to join them. I turn to Oliver, who looks uneasy until he meets my eyes and grins reassuringly. “This reminds me of that diner we visited in Buffalo,” he says.
I nudge him forward. “But no parents or press watching us,” I say. No one to perform for. No one to have to impress. Although that diner had the best chicken wings.
“Abby,” a voice calls from near the counter. Pat in his white cap waves hello. “Good to see you, kid. You look like you could use a Pike.”
“Yes!” I glance at Oliver. “Make that two.”