16. Megan
Chapter 16
Megan
Ollie leans over my shoulder to top up my wineglass, and I snap my book closed before he clocks the spicy scene I’m halfway through reading.
Kara picked Come Get Me, a particularly racy novel for this month’s book club. While our meetings started with some lighter novels, lately we’ve veered into the raunchy territory of a series set in the world of a mafia-run sex club where pretty much anything goes.
Everyone loves it though, and I’m not complaining. A hot book boyfriend is the best I can do for action these days.
“Dinner will be five minutes, OK?” he says warmly and I nod, covering my face with my book as he leaves.
Sitting on the sofa with a book and a glass of wine, while a man cooks dinner for me. What planet am I living on? This is not how I saw my evening going at all, but I’d be really into this domesticity if he was anyone but my new Dad-mandated roommate.
In the kitchen, Ollie is singing away to a playlist of 80s classics, his added vocals giving them a fresh take. He has a great voice, all deep and gravelly, but he’s not afraid to go for high notes. And to think I was worried about living with someone who sings. This is a free concert, and he’s barely even trying.
If I turn my head just right, I have a view into the kitchen, where I can see him moving around as he prepares our meal. His dark curls are pushed back from his face, and over black jeans and a snug white t-shirt he’s wearing the bright pink flowery apron I bought on a day trip Hattie, Kara, and I took to Whitstable. The whole vibe is very ‘yes, chef’ . He looks right at home and the way his muscles in his back flex while he works is pure…
I really need to stop looking.
Ollie’s not my type, and far too young, obviously, but he’s also not like any man I’ve ever spent time with. I had a few male friends at university who dropped off the radar after I moved back home. Max was older, but never introduced me to anyone because he was a cheating weasel.
We have a handful of male teachers on staff, though they’re much older and rarely say more than a ‘good morning’ grunted in my direction in the staff room. That leaves Luke and Rob, who I spend plenty of time with but always as part of our bigger group of friends.
Come to think of it, I couldn’t tell you the last time I was alone with a man. That’s probably why I keep looking at him. I’m not attracted to him, he’s just there. In my house. With his tight white t-shirt. And his muscles. And his—
“You want to hop up to the table?” he calls through. The sip of wine I just took makes its way into my nose when I momentarily think he’s asked me to hop onto the table.
Jesus, I really am getting desperate.
I take my seat while Ollie brings through bowls of crusty bread, oil for dipping, and a fresh green salad. Next comes a pan of linguine teeming with juicy prawns, lemon wedges, and chopped parsley. He sets another dish of crispy gnocchi tossed with spinach and prosciutto alongside it and I take it all in while he returns to the kitchen for the pepper grinder.
When he said he was planning to cook pasta, I’d been expecting something similar to the dishes my sixth form students heat up in the microwave for lunch, not this. This is incredible, and I’ve seriously underestimated Ollie’s skills in the kitchen.
“Ladies first,” he says, handing me a serving spoon. I dig in, lifting a little of everything to my plate while we do a quiet dance, passing dishes back and forth.
The food is delicious. Far nicer than anything Hattie or I ever made.
“I’m seriously impressed, Ollie. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“I had a good teacher.”
“Well, my compliments to your parents. They raised you well.”
His mouth pulls into a tight line, and he concentrates on his food. As nice as this is, I know he wanted to have a proper conversation, but I feel like I can’t do that until I clear the air from our argument in the hallway last night.
“So about last night,” I say quietly, hoping I don’t need to be more specific. Ollie takes a sip of his wine and leans back in his chair.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about blowing up at you. We hadn’t made as much progress as I wanted to before your dad sent us home, and I was really stressed about getting the job done. I know I’ve been a shit roommate and haven’t kept on top of stuff here. I’ll do better this week.”
His apology makes me realise I didn’t need one at all. What I needed was an explanation for his whereabouts, and some reassurance that we can live in the same space without irritating each other.
What I thought was childish insolence on his part was just a rough week, and I was too frustrated about the whole situation to offer him any grace. I’m sure all my notes and nagging made it worse.
“No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hassle you about dishes, though. I actually wanted to ask if you can double check the number I gave you. You mentioned the other night that you texted me, but I didn’t get anything.”
He pulls his phone from his pocket and shows me the screen. “Is this you?”
I lean across and take a closer look. “The last number is a one, not a seven. Sorry.”
“Ah. Then fuck knows who I’ve been texting.”
He quickly fixes it, then smiles at me like it’s no big deal, and maybe it’s not. Maybe I’ve spent the week tying myself up in knots about living with a stranger when all we needed to do was find five minutes to sit down and talk.
This dinner was a good idea, and it makes me think that even if our schedules have us missing each other most days, we should make an effort to do this every now and then. Not just because the food is delicious, and the company isn’t bad to look at.
“Can I be straight with you for a second?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“I know we’ve had our wires crossed this week, and I think I know why.”
My heart climbs into my throat, shame heating at my cheeks the way it does when I’m about to get told I’ve done something wrong.
“I have three sisters. They're all much older than me, all highly successful. It’s always been the family joke that I was an unexpected surprise.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, hilarious, right? My oldest sister, Jessica, is a doctor, Lauren is the middle one, she’s a lawyer, and Caroline is the youngest, but she’s still eleven years older than me. She runs some…” He pauses to tear apart a piece of bread and dip it in the oil and vinegar. “I don’t actually know what Caroline does, but it’s something important in tech. So you can tell from looking at me I’m the black sheep.”
“That seems harsh.”
“Yeah, but it's fair enough.” He shrugs it off, but I can tell it’s a deep-seated belief. “I was never very good at school, not fussed about following in my father's footsteps. I'd rather be outdoors working with my hands than sitting at a desk.”
I can’t help but cast my gaze over his broad shoulders, down to those biceps that fill out his t-shirt. Ollie would definitely look out of place working in an office. He catches me staring and I snap out of it, taking a big gulp of wine.
“They don’t approve of your job?”
“No, they think it’s a joke. I moved away to escape that pressure. My sisters were always nagging me about my life choices, my parents made it clear I was a disappointment. I just got sick of it.”
“That’s awful, Ollie. I’m so sorry.”
“It is what it is. I knew I couldn’t live up to their expectations, but the thing is, when I look at my sisters, my mum, my dad, nobody is happy. They have this prestige and money and nice shit, but they're all miserable as fuck.” He sighs heavily and sets his fork down. “I think that’s why I snapped at you yesterday. I just got flashbacks or something of being told what to do, even though you were totally right to bust me about not pulling my weight.”
The air around us feels heavier. I can see where he’s coming from, but I don’t want to be thought of as a nagging big sister. He’s making all the effort here, and I need to meet him halfway.
“So I have too many rules, and you hate being told what to do,” I joke, hoping to ease the tension. “Remind me why my dad thought us living together was a good idea?”
He makes a pensive hum and scrubs at his jaw with his knuckles.
“You and your dad are doing me a massive favour letting me stay here, and with the money I save, I’ll be able to get the van renovated much quicker. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, though. If you want me gone, I’ll find another place, but I’d much prefer it if we can figure out a way to meet in the middle?”
“I think we can do that. Especially if you keep making me meals like this.”
“Dinner is the least I can do, and cooking really helps me unwind. I was already going to suggest we do this more often, so we’re not total strangers to each other.”
My thoughts exactly.
“I like that rule. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
I offer him my hand, and he shakes it firmly, his palm engulfing mine, fingertips resting gently against the thin skin on the inside of my wrist. A shiver ripples through me, goosebumps prickling at the back of my neck. I’m reminded of Mr Darcy flexing his hand as I pull away.
“Thank you for telling me about your family. I didn’t mean to act like a big sister, telling you what to do. Hattie and I lived together for so long, I don’t know how to be around someone else. I’m just stuck in my ways.”
“Well, I’ll try harder not piss you off. I promise I'll learn every single thing there is to know about you, Megan. What you like, what you don't like, what you need. Maybe I'll make a few mistakes on the way, but let me get there, OK?”
Why do I wish he wasn't only talking about the house?
Ollie surprises me again when he insists on clearing the table himself, and returns with a bowl of dessert and two spoons.
“Tell me you did not make tiramisu?” I gasp.
“I did not make tiramisu,” he says, his grin wide and charming. “No seriously, I didn’t. I picked up a double portion from Angelo’s.”
I nearly spit out my wine. “Why has it never occurred to me you can order only desserts? I swear I’ve had takeout from every place in town, and never done that.”
“Well, now you know,” he says, handing me a spoon. “Tuck in.”
I eat quietly, trying my very hardest not to make the orgasmic sounds that usually come out of my mouth when eating this dish. The tiramisu at Angelo’s is famous around here, and I haven’t been there in far too long.
It's hard to know if it’s the wine, the food, the company, or all three, but I’m feeling relaxed for what feels like the first time in weeks. Since Ollie shared so much with me, it’s only fair I give him something in return.
“I know a little something about disappointing your parents, you know?”
“Bullshit,” he laughs, pulling his spoon slowly from between his lips.
“I do! It's no secret my dad wanted me to take over his family business. Has he still got that photo in his office of me with a pink hard hat?”
He hums softly, and it makes my stomach flip. “I did wonder if that was you.”
“I was five, and I've only disappointed him ever since.”
“That's not true. Your dad loves you. He talks about you all the time, he’s very proud of you.”
“He does?” Ollie nods, and I wonder what else Dad has told him. It never occurred to me that he’s known about me for a while, when I knew nothing of him until that day at the hospital. “Well, that’s mortifying.”
“You never fancied a career in construction?”
“Please, look at these hands.” I hold them out for him to see, which reminds me I need to remove my chipped nail polish before I start back at work tomorrow. “They weren't made for hard labour. I'd rather be curled up with a blanket and a good book than doing anything outside.”
“Well, at least he doesn't tell you what to do with your life.”
“Hardly,” I scoff. “I'm living in a flat he bought, with a guy he sent to keep an eye on me. I'm still beholden to him.”
Ollie's jaw ticks, and with that one statement, I fear I've ruined the goodwill that’s been growing between us all evening.