Chapter 24- Oliver
The fire crackles softly as Oliver kneels in front of the fireplace, arranging the logs like he’s done this a hundred times. The cabin is warm now — not just from the flames, but from the way he keeps glancing back at me, like he’s checking to make sure I’m still here. Still real.
Moony is already asleep on the rug, her little snores blending with the sound of the burning wood.
I wrap my arms around myself, not because I’m cold, but because my heart feels too full and I don’t know where to put all of it.
Oliver stands, brushing his hands on his jeans. “There,” he says softly. “Cozy.”
“It’s perfect,” I whisper.
He smiles — that soft, shy one that makes my stomach flip — and then he walks toward his bag by the dresser. He kneels, unzips it, and pulls something out.
A small bouquet.
Lilac peonies.
My breath catches.
He turns to me, holding them gently, like they’re something fragile. “Your favorites.”
My cheeks burn instantly. “Oliver…”
He steps closer, placing them in my hands. The petals are soft, cool, and somehow warmer than the fire behind him. I blink down at them, overwhelmed.
“How do you always—” My voice cracks a little. “How do you think of everything?”
He shrugs, but his eyes are warm. “I pay attention.”
I swallow hard, because suddenly it feels like my heart is too big for my chest. How is he real?
How is he mine?
How am I supposed to not fall in love with a boy who remembers the exact flowers I said I loved months ago?
I look up at him, and he’s already watching me — really watching me — like giving me these flowers meant something to him too.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You deserve pretty things.”
My face heats even more. I’m surprised I haven’t burst into flames.
We move to the couch, the fire warming our legs, Moony curled at our feet. Oliver sits close enough that our shoulders touch, but not close enough that it feels intentional. Or maybe it is. With him, I can never tell — he’s gentle in ways that sneak up on me.
For a while, we just sit there, listening to the fire.
Then he says, “Tell me something.”
I turn to him. “Like what?”
He thinks for a second. “Your favorite memory.”
I smile. “That’s hard.”
“Pick one,” he says, nudging my knee with his.
I lean back, letting my head rest on the couch cushion.
“Okay… um… when I was little, Dad used to take me to this lake near our old house. We’d go early in the morning, before the sun was fully up.
The water would be so still it looked like glass.
And he’d tell me stories about the world — about places he wanted to take me someday. ”
Oliver listens like every word matters. “That sounds beautiful.”
“It was,” I say softly. “What about you?”
He looks into the fire for a moment, thinking. “Probably the first time I ever took Moony to the beach. She was terrified of the waves at first. But then she realized she could chase them, and she just… lit up. I don’t know. It felt like watching someone discover joy for the first time.”
I smile. “That’s very you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Very me?”
“Yeah,” I say. “You notice things. You feel things deeply. You… care.”
His cheeks tint pink. “Only about the important stuff.”
My heart stutters.
We fall quiet again, but it’s not awkward. It’s warm. Safe.
Then, softly, he says, “Do you ever think about the future?”
My breath catches. “Sometimes.”
“What does it look like?” he asks, voice low.
I stare into the fire, imagining it. “I don’t know… I picture a small place. Cozy. Lots of windows. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that feels like home.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. I think about that too.”
I glance at him. “What else?”
He hesitates — just for a second — then says, “Someone to share it with.”
My heart flips so hard I swear it echoes.
I swallow. “Me too.”
He turns to me, eyes soft, warm, full. “I think… I think the future feels less scary when I imagine it with someone who makes everything feel lighter.”
My chest tightens. “Oliver…”
He doesn’t look away. “I’m not saying all of it has to be figured out. Just… that I like imagining it. With you.”
The fire pops softly.
Moony sighs in her sleep.
And I feel it — the quiet, certain truth settling inside me.
I’m in love with him.
Very in love.
He leans back against the couch, stretching his arm along the backrest behind me. Not touching me… but close enough that I feel the warmth of him.
“Do you want to make dinner?” he asks quietly.
I blink. “Dinner?”
He smiles. “Yeah. You know… food. The thing humans eat.”
I shove his shoulder lightly. “You think you’re funny.”
He laughs — that warm, low sound that always makes my chest feel too small — and stands, offering me his hand. I take it, letting him pull me up, and he doesn’t let go right away. His thumb brushes the back of my hand before he finally releases it.
My heart is doing gymnastics.
We move into the little kitchen, and Oliver opens a bag he brought. Inside are simple things — pasta, sauce, garlic bread, a couple of spices. Nothing fancy, but somehow it feels perfect.
“You planned all this?” I ask softly.
He shrugs, but his cheeks tint pink. “I wanted it to feel easy. Comfortable.”
It does.
It feels like home.
We cook together — bumping into each other, laughing when I almost drop the spoon, teasing him when he burns the first piece of garlic bread.
At one point, I’m stirring the sauce when I feel Oliver behind me. Not touching — just close. His voice is low when he says, “It smells good.”
I turn slightly. “The sauce?”
He shakes his head, eyes warm. “You.”
My breath catches. I look away before my face combusts.
We eat by the fire, plates balanced on our laps, Moony curled between us. The food is simple but perfect, and the quiet between us is soft and full.
After a while, Oliver sets his plate down and leans back, stretching his legs out. “Can I ask you something else?”
I nod.
“What’s something you want in the future? Not big stuff. Just… something small. Something that would make you happy.”
I think for a moment. “Hmm… I want a place with a big window. One that lets in morning light. I want to wake up and feel the sun on my face.”
He smiles. “That sounds like you.”
“What about you?” I ask.
He looks into the fire, thoughtful. “I want… a kitchen where two people can cook without bumping into each other.”
I laugh. “Are you saying I’m in your way?”
He nudges me gently. “I’m saying I wouldn’t mind bumping into you forever.”
My heart stops.
Actually stops.
I swallow. “Oliver…”
He turns to me, eyes soft, steady. “I’m not trying to rush anything. I just… I like imagining things. With you. A future that feels warm. Safe. Real.”
Warm.
Safe.
Real.
That’s exactly what this feels like.
I shift closer without thinking, my knee brushing his. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he reaches out and gently takes my hand, his thumb brushing slow circles over my skin.
“I think about that too,” I whisper. “A future that feels like… this.”
He squeezes my hand, just once, but it sends a wave of emotion through me so strong I almost can’t breathe.
The fire crackles one more time.
And Oliver looks at me like I’m something precious.
“Ellie,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m really glad we’re here.”
I feel it — the truth settling deep inside me, warm and certain.
“I’m glad we’re here too,” I say softly. “I’m glad I’m here, with you.”
He leans in, slow and gentle, giving me every chance to pull away. I don’t. I tilt my head up, meeting him halfway, and our lips brush in the softest, sweetest kiss — warm, unhurried, full of everything we’re too scared to say out loud.
When we pull apart, he rests his forehead against mine, breathing me in.
I beg God, the universe, whoever is listening to my thoughts.
Please, let this be forever.