Chapter 15
Olan: Thanks for the chat. I feel much better.
Marvin: Me too.
Olan: How about Friday?
Marvin: To hang out?
Olan: Yes.
Marvin: Sounds awesome.
With our heart-to-heart chat on Monday behind us, my expectations plummet to a fairly low level. Think when any former member of Destiny’s Child (besides Beyoncé) releases music. The problem lies in that I don’t typically neck with friends. I haven’t kissed anyone in a long time. Truthfully, I’ve never kissed anyone that way.
Part of me wonders if simply being out of practice, with the kissing stuff, made it all supercharged with Olan. There’s no denying the heat between us was palpable, but with so many reasons not to get involved, maybe being stuck in the friend zone wouldn’t be so terrible.
“Having a friend that hot isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Jill says, always knowing how to comfort me. We sit collating and stapling papers for a project.
“Thank you for that.”
“Hear me out. Hot people attract other hot people. It’s simple physics.”
“What the hell do you know about physics?”
“I read a book about this. Seriously. If you hang out with him, even as a friend, he’ll attract other hot people and increase your chances of meeting a hot person who wants to date you. It’s one of the laws of attraction. Like attracts like. Hot attracts hot.”
Her logic, while ridiculous, comes from a place of caring, and I’m unable to be upset with her.
“Well, bring on the hot people!” I shout.
To be clear, Olan’s irrefutable hotness might be part of what drew me to him, but it’s his awkward nerdiness, his tenderness with Illona, the uncomplicated way we communicate – those are what truly thrill me. I need to work on dampening that flame, not fanning it.
As is often the case, the week keeps me focused and busy, while the remoteness of Friday annoys me. I throw myself into teaching and being present for the children. Their sweet faces and random antics distract and entertain me. On Wednesday, at snack time, Zoe puts a raspberry on the tip of each of her fingers and tries to open her milk with “raspberry fingers.” The ensuing mess is worth the hilarity of the entire class cheering her on. These small moments balance the stress of school. Sure, the teaching part matters, but the silliness, the affection, and the time together matter a whole lot more.
Friday finally arrives and I’m more than ready for some rest. One positive about Olan and me being planted firmly in the friend zone, there’s less pressure surrounding our hanging out, and I’m actually pleased about that. The sight of Olan at pickup still causes a flip in my stomach, but it feels smaller, more manageable.
“Princess!” I wonder how long it will be until she’ll be too big to leap into his strong arms.
With Illona’s arms around her father, Olan looks at me and asks, “What time are you thinking?”
We’d already agreed I’d come over to his place as Cindy has the weekend off, and he wasn’t keen on leaving his five-year-old alone for the evening.
“I’m totally flexible.”
“If you want to share a meal with Illona and me, you could come at six? If you would prefer to wait until she goes to bed, maybe eight-ish? I totally get if you want a night off from children.”
While thoughtful of him, more time with both him and Illona sounds way better than going home, eating a frozen meal, and waiting until eight to leave my place. I’d probably pass out on the sofa, drool spooling on my chin, and miss the entire evening.
“Well, I’m always hungry, so how about six? What can I bring?” My stomach’s already rumbling.
“Just yourself,” he says with a wink. Damnit. Apparently, friends wink now.
Illona pulls herself back. She’s still in her father’s arms.
“Mr. Block is coming over for dinner?”
“Is that all right?” Olan asks.
She nods and smiles with such zeal my heart gives a little flutter as I take them both in, and if I had ovaries, they’d be exploding right now. Boom.
“Okay, I’ll see you both soon,” I say.
* * *
As I walk to Olan’s, the cold February air bites my lungs, but I enjoy the jolt of energy it provides. My view morphs as crowded apartments and small homes with nearly impossible street parking transform into single-family homes with yards, driveways, and garages increasing in size the closer I get to the coastline. Even though Jill uncovered why Olan uprooted his and Illona’s worlds and relocated, I’m still clueless about what happened with his ex-wife. Clearly, Olan’s more than comfortable financially, but we haven’t spoken about money because nothing kills the mood faster than talking about finances. But now, as friends, maybe I’ll learn more about him. He’s upstairs. I’m downstairs. But if it doesn’t bother him, I’m not going to worry about it.
Opening the door, Olan wears a red and tan flannel (how very New England of you, sir) and dark green joggers. The combo makes him resemble a lumberjack, and I’m not upset about it. He gazes at me and lets out a little laugh. This man clearly finds me hilarious, and although it’s harmless, having him always examine me and snicker puts my self-confidence on edge.
“What did I do now, John Henry?”
He chuckles again and says, “You didn’t do anything. Come inside, it’s freezing. Why didn’t you drive?”
“I prefer to walk whenever possible. It’s the only exercise I get besides teaching, which, let’s be real, is the ultimate cardio. Plus, the last time I was here, I needed a ride home, and look how that turned out.”
We haven’t established if we’re pretending the kissing never happened or if we’re even allowed to talk about it, so I’m unsure if that was out of line. Olan’s eyes dart down, and I think I might have embarrassed him.
“Did I make you blush?”
He looks up, takes my hand, and places the back of it against his cheek. Heat radiates from his skin, instantly warming my hand and sending my belly into a tumble.
“You might not always see it, but yes, I blush.”
“Now, who’s being adorable?” I say because playfully teasing him makes my heart happy.
He takes my coat and hangs it up in a hallway closet. Illona comes charging down the hallway, barrels into my leg, and her arms encircle my waist, much as she does at school.
“Hey you,” I gush. It truly feels wonderful to spend time with her outside of school and know our closeness translates. For this friendship between Olan and me to work, Illona must be a part of it. I sneak a glance at Olan’s face. He lights up watching Illona and me, and Lord, his fatherly joy ignites something inside me.
“Marvin’s going to prepare pizza with us,” Olan says.
At this, in one motion, Illona breaks free from my waist, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the elaborate kitchen.
“Just boss me around,” I tease.
“Don’t worry, we will.” Olan nudges Illona, and she giggles in agreement.
The three of us fall into an easy rhythm making pizzas. With a Motown station playing through a hi-tech audio system, we begin. Thankfully, Olan bought premade dough. We roll it out, with Illona taking the pin as her dad stands behind her, pushing her small hands with his strong ones. She periodically directs me to sprinkle the dough with “flour, please.” I’m also working on chopping an onion, red pepper, and mushrooms and am thankful for the gum secured in my pocket. Kissing may not be featured on the dessert menu, but I’d rather have fresh breath, even for chatting.
“Where’s Cindy?” I ask.
“She’s over at Sam’s for the weekend. I’m home, she has a boyfriend, and we’re pretty flexible with each other.”
“She seems wonderful.”
Illona grabs some shredded cheese from a bag and sprinkles it on the pizzas. Her tongue pokes out like when she uses scissors.
“Cindy relocated with us from California. With so much change, she’s been a consistent presence for us.”
“She moved with you? That’s amazing.”
“Well, her boyfriend was part of the restaurant launch here, contributing to her verdict.”
With the meal in the oven, Olan grabs a small remote and turns the music louder. Just as “My Mistake” begins and the voices of Marvin Gaye and Diana Ross infuse the space, Illona grabs her dad’s hands, and he begins to twirl her. I sit on one of the stools that were tucked under the lip of the island and crack up as Olan sways his hips to the beat. For a self-proclaimed nerd, Olan’s got moves. Illona hears my laughter, lets go of one of her dad’s hands, reaches out, grabs one of mine, and pulls me over to them. She’s between us, swinging her arms to the music, and Olan reaches his free hand over to mine, and we become a circle of rhythm. I try not to let his fingers wrapping around mine shake me, and having Illona here, smiling, head back, lost in the music helps.
“Drink?” Olan asks me, opening the fridge. It’s covered in the same dark gray as the rest of the cabinets, camouflaging it.
“Water is great.”
“Tap or fizzy?”
“Oh, fancy! Fizzy, please.”
“Juice for me, please,” Illona says.
Olan pours Illona a glass of apple juice, takes out a large blue bottle that sizzles upon opening, and pours bubbly water for us.
Shrieking through the kitchen, the timer sounds more like an alarm, and Illona and I both jump. The three of us sit on tall stools flanking the island, eager to gobble up our pizza.
“It’s hot!” Illona warns us.
“Give it a blow to help it cool off,” I say, showing her how to blow gently on her bubbling toppings.
I blow on my own piece, take a bite, and the cheese stretches into long strings. As I pull the piece away from my mouth, Olan reaches over, grabs a small stray strand stuck to my chin, and pops it into my mouth, and I giggle because it’s ridiculously cute.
“Adorable,” he declares, making my face blush, matching the sauce. He probably should stop calling me adorable.
Once we’ve eaten, cleaned up, and played two rounds of Candy Land, which Illona wins, Olan declares, “Bedtime.”
“But Daddy, can’t I stay up just a little later?” she implores with puppy dog eyes.
“Sorry, Princess, you know the rules.”
“How about I read you a story tonight since I’m here?”
She bolts upstairs to brush her teeth.
“That was sneaky,” Olan says.
I give a little shrug. “What’s the point of having your teacher over for dinner if he can’t read you a bedtime story?”
“Good point,” he says and we head upstairs to join her.
She insists on not one, not two, but three books (because they were “too short”), but finally Illona’s eyelids start looking rather heavy.
“Goodnight, Illona. Thanks for letting me make pizza with you and your dad.”
“I’m glad you came. Daddy smiles a lot around you. Goodnight, Marvin,” she murmurs.
Olan winks at me, and I leave them to their bedtime ritual. Heading downstairs, I pop a piece of gum in my mouth and steady myself for the “just us” portion of the evening. You know those candy shops in airports where they sell every sweet known to humankind in bulk? One time, I walked by one of those and didn’t stop to buy anything. I can do this.