chapter seventeen A Deluge of Awkwardness #2
not delving too deep into our pasts. Anything that could risk triggering the curse I steer clear from, which has resulted
in our relationship remaining surface level and, ultimately, boring; for someone who hates talking about the weather I’ve
brought it up in conversation with Olsen more than I’ve done my entire life.
Finally, we arrive downtown and park. I stare bleakly out the window, confused. “Olsen, this is a laundromat.”
He unclicks his seat belt. “Perceptive, aren’t you?”
Before I can question him further, he’s out of the car and opening my door. He holds out his hand for me to take, pulling
me onto the sidewalk. It stinks out here. Where the hell has he taken me? Just as I’m about to question his sanity two beautiful
people exit the laundromat, laughing and smiling a hell of a lot more than anyone should from dropping off dry cleaning.
“Oh! I know!” I jump and turn, grasping Olsen’s arm and jiggling him back and forth. “I’ve heard of these places! It’s like
a secret bar, right? It’s a front for something awesome?”
He flashes his perfect smile. “You’re cute when you’re excited. You know that?”
I release his arm and slap him playfully on the chest. “Come on, let’s go check it out. Is there a code word to get in?”
Grabbing Olsen’s hand, I tug him into the small building. The yellowing checkered linoleum on the floor, the aged machines thumping away on the tumble cycle, and the baskets of laundry in the corner give a fabulous illusion.
We approach the guy at the desk, who fits us with a bored expression. “Can I help you?”
Once more, I’m gripping Olsen’s arm and shaking him. “Can I say the magic words? Please, please, please?”
Olsen chuckles, then leans down to whisper in my ear. “I like it when you beg.”
I slap his chest again, though I can’t help but notice warmth rising to my cheeks and flooding my abdomen. “Come on.”
“Tell him you’d like your suit pressed, extra starch.”
I relay the code and the guy reaches beneath the till to press a button. Just like magic, one of the sets of stacked washers
pops open to reveal a hidden doorway. Olsen offers his arm for me to grab and I lead him through. After a short, dark hall
the room opens to a glamorous speakeasy with a gilded bar, shiny cushioned leather seats, and swanky jazz music emanating
from a jukebox in the corner. A low-lit bar runs along the whole right side with the most hipster bartenders I’ve ever laid
my eyes on.
We take our seats and flip through the menu, designed to look like an old, worn-out travel guide to the Bahamas. I order something
similar to an espresso martini and Olsen chooses what would translate to an old-fashioned, plus a fancy, overpriced charcuterie.
“This place is so cool!” I can’t stop looking around; there are so many quirky little details.
“I thought you’d like it.” Olsen is angled toward me, his long legs jutting out from his seat and pressing against mine.
My first instinct is to pull away and give him space, but then I remember that this is a date, we’re supposed to be touching, and this is the whole reason we’re here.
I force myself to look at him, at his pretty eyes and his perfectly combed hair, and his nice clothes and his expensive watch and .
. . and I can’t think of a single thing to say to him.
I open my mouth and close it a few times before giving up and taking a long sip of my martini.
I wonder what Lex is doing right now. She’d love this place. I bet she’d know all sorts of fun facts about speakeasies, too.
What would she wear to a place like this? Maybe dark trousers, a white linen shirt, suspenders . . . she’d look amazing in suspenders. I bet she could pull off a fedora, too.
“What are you thinking about?” Olsen asks, jarring me back to the present.
“Just . . . um. How much I’m enjoying this?” I wince at the accidental upward inflection. “Thank you for taking me out. This
is a nice surprise.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Olsen reaches for my hand and brings it to his lips, brushing a kiss across my knuckles. I resist the
urge to pull away. Despite our evening having all the makings of a perfect date, paving the way for tension and heat and flirtatious
banter, I can’t help but feel . . . nothing. I can’t think of a single thing to say, or to do, and we came all this way and
this place is so nice and this is so . . . awkward.
It’s awkward.
I blink a few times as understanding sets in, Lex’s words coming back to my mind. I’m supposed to be chasing the feelings
of awkwardness, not running away from them. I’ve been avoiding Olsen because I’ve been worried about something terrible happening—food
stuck in my teeth, tripping and falling on my face, an ill-timed fart—but this type of awkwardness is a whole other level.
Somehow the curse has managed to sneak past my defences and ruin my date in a whole new way, by stilting our conversation
and convincing me there’s no spark between us, sabotaging the best date I’ve ever gone on, with the nicest, most attractive
guy I’ve ever met. It’s making me feel—or not feel—the way I’d expect, and ruining it all the same. The curse knows how close I’m getting and it’s rearing its ugly head, trying to make me think everything’s wrong when it couldn’t be more right.
I tilt my head and look at Olsen again, really look at him, and try to remember how I felt when I first met him all those weeks ago in that pub. His chiselled jaw, his
thick hair, his kind eyes, the confidence that radiates from him, his easygoing nature. The Perfect Guy. I’ll be damned if
I let the curse get in the way of my happily ever after.
I toss my hair over my shoulder and reach for Olsen’s hands, giving them a squeeze. He has nice hands. Big, strong hands.
They’d feel so good on my body. In fact, I’m determined to make sure that they do.
“I’m really glad I’m here with you,” I say to Olsen, with every ounce of sincerity I can muster, convincing myself just as
much as him.
My words affect him more than I thought they would, and he smiles bashfully. “Me, too.”
“Thank you for giving me, us, a second chance.”
Olsen regards me for a long moment. “You know, when Lex started hanging out with you, I thought she was crazy. I didn’t want
to say anything, though. She’s been through a lot, and she needed a friend. I never would have thought you two would have
got so close, though. She talks about you all the time.”
My heart glows. “Really?”
He nods. “Oh, yeah. She never shuts up about you.”
I bite my lip. “What sort of things does she say?”
“She talks about how you take in old dogs no one else wants to make sure they get all the love and care they need in their
golden years. How passionate you are about your job, about making the world a better place for kids like Gabe. How you’ve
been so kind and patient with him, and how much he loves you.”
“He loves me?”
Olsen nods. “Gabe isn’t much of a chatter, but he brings you and your dog up all the time. I think he likes you more than
he likes me.”
I don’t think there’s a better compliment in the world than that. “Well, he’s an amazing kid.”
“And you’re an amazing woman.” Olsen cups my face in his hands and tilts my chin up, looking at me like he’s won the lottery.
“Then I saw you at Cultus Lake, and it all clicked.”
I roll my eyes. “Because my top came off.”
He laughs, stroking his thumb across my cheek. “That helped, sure. But seeing you again, with the mess of our first meeting
behind us, and watching you with Lex? With my nephew? Out there in the sun, enjoying your life, being such a radiant, honest,
kind person?” He sucks in a breath, shaking his head slowly. “I’m so glad Lex suggested you and I try again.”
“Really?”
He nods. “Really, really.”
Olsen leans in, his gaze dropping to my lips. This is it. He’s going to try to kiss me again. This time, I’m going to let
him. I’ve been running from this, evading it, avoiding it, worried that something bad will happen and the curse will kick
in and ruin it but . . . I can’t run forever. And he said he likes me, didn’t he? You can’t fake looking at someone the way
he’s been looking at me. Maybe Lex is right and this is my chance to—
I chase my thoughts away and try to be present. To stop overthinking and worrying and catastrophizing for once in my life
and just be.
My pulse quickens as Olsen leans in, my cheek tingling where he touches me, warmth pooling in my stomach. Then, it happens.
Olsen kisses me, his lips soft, tentative, careful. And . . .
There’s nothing. No sparks. No electricity. I may as well be kissing a wall.
But I want this. I want him. I want the Perfect Guy and the Perfect Life and to be the Perfect Person he thinks I am. And the only way to be that is
to move forward, to get through this awkward kiss, and break the curse.
Sometimes sparks fly. Sometimes you have to light the fire yourself.
Releasing all my inhibitions, I take Olsen’s face in my hands and pull him closer, sliding my tongue between his lips and
claiming him. After a short pause of surprise, he kisses me back with just as much vigour, his hands making their way to my
low back, then to my hips, nearly tugging me onto his lap, and—there. There it is. A rush of heat. A flash of electricity. A promise of more.
Someone clears their throat. “Excuse me.”
Olsen and I withdraw, pushing ourselves back in our chairs and fixing our faces as the hipster bartender passes us our bill.
“We have a reservation here in ten minutes.”
I wipe at the corner of my lips, stifling my smile, and watch as Olsen gently lifts from his seat and tugs at the crotch of
his pants to adjust himself. Olsen and I share a quiet laugh at being caught like naughty teenagers while he pays our bill.
Back outside, we walk to Olsen’s car slowly. He has his arm wrapped around me, and he’s so tall and warm and sturdy, I can’t
help but lean against him, so grateful that finally, finally, there’s a hint of something more between us.
“I was thinking,” Olsen says as we arrive at his shiny black sports car. “You said you wanted to get to know one another better