34. Lissa
Lissa
As we step out onto the street, Oliver looks down at me and Henry, who is fast asleep in my arms.
“Do you want me to carry him?” he asks, and I shake my head, nervous about transferring him from my arms in case he wakes.
Oliver frowns, tugs off his thick scarf, and places it around my neck. It flutters down over my chest, and it’s warm and cozy. It also smells like his cologne, and I start thinking about what happened in the alley tonight…
We head off up the street toward Central Park, which is still a few blocks away, and Oliver walks just a step ahead of us, his wide shoulders preventing Henry and me from being pushed around by those walking past. He keeps glancing back to make sure we’re right behind him.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry him, Lissa? He’s got to be getting heavy…”
“I’m really okay. I guess I’m just used to it.”
As we move along the sidewalk, the level of anger on the street is increasing. Beeping horns and curses fill the air. In a few minutes, Henry’s little head rises from my shoulders, his cheeks pink from the cold.
“Where are we?” he mumbles, sounding exhausted.
I should have just taken a cab home.
But just as I have that thought, there’s another expletive-studded altercation on the road as two Ubers collide, and I decide walking has to be safer.
Oliver turns sharply left up ahead into a side street where the sound from the main street is deadened, and we come upon a row of houses. Most of them are brick, with huge arched windows, and Oliver stops in front of one, pulling out his keys from his coat.
The exterior is beautifully kept with pansies on the steps at the top as we ascend, and a warm glow coming from inside.
Am I really going to go into this man’s home with my son? What do I actually know about him—other than the fact that I can’t get enough of him?
Oliver turns, his eyes soft, the snow in his hair making him look so sexy in the streetlight.
“Let’s get you both in and warmed up.”
“Thank you,” I say, and a strange expression flits over his face for a moment before he turns back and walks inside.
He opens the door and motions for me to come in.
“Wow,” I whisper. The high ceilings and the wide white floor make it feel like the entrance to a library.
Oliver smiles at me. “I keep meaning to update, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
I can see what he means. The white marble on the floor is lined with black tiles, making the whole space look dated. The ceiling has crisscrossing beams above us against white paneling.
Henry is squirming in my arms now, wanting to look around, and I put him on the floor as he turns and looks up at Oliver.
“Hey there, Henry,” Oliver says, smiling down at him. “I’m sorry we woke you up.”
“Is this your house?” he asks curiously.
“It is. I’m wondering whether you might like to meet my dog.”
If I could have bottled the look on Henry’s face, I would. It’s the most excited I’ve seen him in a long time.
“The gray one?” he squeaks.
“Yes. The dog walker took him out for a long walk today, so hopefully he’ll be on his best behavior. He’s bad about jumping up sometimes,” he says, glancing at me, “but I’ll keep him away from you both if he’s being a nuisance.”
There’s a deep fondness in his voice as he talks about his dog, and I hide a smile as he leads us toward a long staircase. He stops at the bottom, looking down at Henry and putting his hands on his hips.
“Henry, there are eighteen steps up to the next floor. Will you be okay, or would you like me to carry you?”
I expect Henry to cling to me shyly like he often does, but to my shock, he nods his head and marches up ahead of us. Oliver watches him with a little smile, and I shrug as he meets my eye.
“He’s very determined,” I say gently.
“Yes, he reminds me of someone else I know.”
Oliver walks up behind him, but Henry’s speed slows down as he gets tired toward the top. I can hear the scurrying of excited claws, and a tiny gray dog suddenly appears on the floor above us.
Oliver instinctively steps in front of Henry as the dog begins leaping all over the place, and although he’s small, he’s nearly nose to nose with Henry.
“Alright, there, buddy. Calm down,” Oliver whispers in the dog’s ear as he picks him up, stroking him with his enormous hand. “Truman, this is Henry.”
The dog's little nose twitches madly as Oliver lowers him to greet Henry, who strokes him immediately and looks at me with sparkling eyes.
“He’s so cute!”
“He’s gorgeous. I love the color of his coat,” I say, tentatively stroking Truman as Oliver puts him down on the floor and he investigates Henry a bit more.
“This place is huge,” I say, looking around.
“Yeah, it’s a lot,” he mutters, catching my eye.
“But so much light, I’m guessing, during the day, with all these windows,” I say as I look ahead of us to a beautiful, ivory kitchen with stainless appliances.
“Yes,” Oliver says, his eyes on me. “I suppose there is.”
Although it’s dark outside, the windows are huge, and there are skylights, and I can imagine light flooding in throughout the day.
We all walk into the kitchen, Henry following behind Truman as the dog gives a little yip of excitement, and Oliver gets his food out.
“Would you like to feed him, Henry? He’d be your best friend for life.”
“He is my best friend,” Henry says, and Truman comes and sits beside him, his thin little tail wagging madly.
Oliver hands a little cup of food to Henry and shows him where Truman’s bowl is. Henry dumps out the food and strokes Truman’s back while he eats.
“How old is Truman?” I ask, watching them fondly.
“He’s five. He was a rescue.”
“Henry wanted a yellow puppy,” I murmur. “But I have a feeling he’s going to want a greyhound now.”
“Just a warning,” Oliver says. “They have more energy than you’ll know what to do with.”
“You obviously don’t know many six-year-olds,” I say, smiling at him, and he chuckles quietly.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Just some water, please. Do you have any juice Henry could have?”
Oliver opens the fridge, and I see an array of prepared meals, neatly arranged in little containers across the shelves.
“If either of you is hungry, we could cook a couple of these and share them. And you’re both welcome to anything else you want in the kitchen.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay, you don’t have to?—”
“Lissa.” I shut my mouth at that tone I know so well. I’ve heard it many times in his office. “I’d love for you to eat something if you’re hungry.”
His gaze is intense, and I look away, swallowing hard. Surprisingly, I am kind of hungry even though it hasn’t been that long since I had dinner.
The small amount of food in Truman’s bowl has been wolfed down already, and he scampers over to a door on the right-hand side of the kitchen. Oliver snorts, rolling his eyes.
“He wants to embarrass me now,” he murmurs.
I’m intrigued and walk over to where Truman is standing. Oliver follows reluctantly, sighing.
“Don’t judge me too harshly.”
I open the door and stare in total amazement at what can only be described as a dog gymnasium. There are toys scattered all over the floor. There’s also a ball pit and a dog treadmill with a harness attached to it.
Henry shrieks in delight as Truman jumps up at him, running about the room and bringing over his toys in obvious excitement.
“He’s showing off,” Oliver says, frowning at the dog. He looks uncomfortable, like he knows how over-the-top this all is.
Why did he bring us here? Why didn’t he just pay for a cab and send us home?
“Are you both tired? Do you need to… uh…” He trails off, and I turn to him, raising my eyebrows, watching, fascinated, as the tips of his ears go red. “Do you need to change?”
“Oh. Uh. Probably,” I say, flushing when I’m reminded of the state of my underwear.
“You can use one of the bathrooms to get a shower if you’d like and change. I’m sure I can find you some clothes to wear.”
“That would be great.”
The shower in our apartment has a weak spray and barely gets warm, and Henry hates it almost as much as I do. The thought of him getting a really hot, cleansing shower after all those days in the hospital fills me with happiness, and Oliver seems to sense it.
“Come on, I’ll show you to your room, and you can get cleaned up. I’ve got to take Truman out while you’re doing that so he can go to the bathroom and get out some energy.”
“I want to go, too!” Henry says excitedly.
Oliver looks at me questioningly.
“Not this time, Hen. We need to get you cleaned up and back to sleep,” I say, ruffling his hair.
Oliver looks at me and mouths, “Are you sure? I’m happy to take him.”
I give him a grateful smile and a little shake of the head.
“Alright, Hen, let’s get you all scrubbed up.”