Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
POPPY
Being stuck in the same room with Ollie Fletcher is the worst thing in the world.
The room is painted a soft terracotta that’s determined to be warm and inviting. The crisp pale bedspread is tucked in that way only a professional can do (or at least that I can’t). The dark wood headboard shines like it’s been polished just for us.
And there it is: a single queen bed.
Center stage.
There’s a dresser with a flat-screen TV perched on top, an old-fashioned armchair in the corner, and a bathroom through a doorway that gleams like it’s recently scrubbed within an inch of its life. It’s nice. Clean. Dreadfully cozy.
But all I can see is that bed.
The bed is too big to ignore, the room too small to even hint at another option.
And Ollie and I are just standing there, staring at it.
“It’ll be fine,” I say with a forced smile. “Do you want to shower?”
“What?” The word explodes out of his mouth.
I rear back, confused. “Uh, shower? Do you want to shower first? I can’t sleep until I’ve washed the airport and rental car off me, but I need to stretch after that drive.”
“Oh, right,” he says, like he didn’t just overreact to the most normal question in the world. His cheeks are so red, I can see it through his scruff. “Yeah, I’ll go first.”
We put down our bags, and I drop to the floor.
Maybe that’s gross—hotel carpets and all—but it looks cleaner than your usual hotel …
and it can’t be worse than an airport or rental car.
As I stretch, I watch Fletch kick off his shoes and set down his coat and wallet, and I think about why he got so worked up about me asking if he wanted to shower …
OH.
OH!
He thought I was asking him to—
I wasn’t! It’s so obvious that I wasn’t. But if he thought that—even for a second!—maybe it wasn’t that obvious.
And okay, we’ve had a couple of hand-grazing moments that haven’t been torture, and yes, when he saved us from going off the road earlier, his protective competence was super attractive, and yes, he’s objectively beautiful, when he’s not scowling, and maybe also when he is scowling but …
Have I been giving off shower vibes??
He closes the door, and the water turns on a minute later, and all I can do is plug my ears and say, “La la la,” to myself to block out the sound.
No. That’s silly. I’m an adult. I can turn on the TV!
Except, it’s You’ve Got Mail.
Romance? Really??
I change it to a home renovation show.
Perfect.
And now, with thoughts of Ollie and his misunderstanding very firmly behind me, I pull out my phone and see a message from half an hour ago.
GreenArrow11
Do you ever not do something just to be ornery and then have it backfire on you?
There’s no way you do that. But I do, and I don’t get why.
GracieLou
Your family had really high expectations of you, right? Maybe the fact that you never got to make your own choices means that you sometimes make the wrong choice just so you can enjoy the freedom of it. That would make sense to me.
And you’re right that I don’t do that, because you already know I have the exact opposite problem.
I want to stop caring about what everyone else will think if I don’t do exactly what they want. Is there a chance that the world won’t fall apart if I take a stand? Do something I want, for a change?
He’s not on right now, but he was only a half hour ago. So I roll out my arms and neck as I stare at my screen. And when he doesn’t respond, I look up to see a woman on the TV taking a sledgehammer to a wall.
I wince, hating every second.
The host starts talking about open concept floor plans, about homes existing for people instead of the other way around, but I’m too horrified by the demolition to let it sink in. The woman is swinging that sledgehammer, and the wall keeps crumbling down.
My phone chirps, and I look down to see that Arrow has responded. My heart leaps in my chest.
GreenArrow11
The world will not fall apart if you stand up for yourself. Is what you want bad?
GracieLou
I’m not talking some big, life-changing thing here. I’m talking…I don’t know what. A life that isn’t driven by obligation.
Don’t get me wrong, I want to help people. But I feel like I’m a walking buffet that’s open 24 hours a day. I’m serving up things people don’t even want, but I keep offering just in case.
GreenArrow11
Close up the buffet, Gracie. They don’t deserve constant access to you.
GracieLou
I can’t do that. I would never be happy shutting people out.
GreenArrow11
It’s not as bad as all that.
GracieLou
Oh, really? Mr Happiness?
:)
Sorry, I hope you know I’m teasing.
GreenArrow11
Yeah, yeah.
And no, I’m not happy shutting everyone out.
But it’s better than the alternative. Letting people in is a recipe for disaster.
GracieLou
But that’s what any meaningful relationship requires.
GreenArrow11
You’re wearing yourself out trying to serve everyone at the expense of yourself. Is that making you happy?
GracieLou
Sometimes. It can be so fulfilling.
GreenArrow11
“Sometimes.”
“It can be.”
There has to be something better than that.
GracieLou
If I shut everyone out, I’ll be miserable. I can’t live like that. I *need* people.
I just need to not be a 24 hour, made-to-order buffet.
GreenArrow11
Then maybe open a taco truck, instead. Don’t offer everything to everyone, but offer what makes YOU happy. When you run out for the day, you close up shop, restock, and serve until you’re out tomorrow.
Let yourself help people in a way that makes YOU happy.
GracieLou
That sounds amazing, honestly.
But I don’t know how. I tried setting a limit a couple of months ago at work, and no one would listen.
There was this case I didn’t want, but my boss said I was the right person for the job.
So instead of advocating for myself rationally, I took the job and then blew up my whole world.
What do I say to create a boundary without hurting other people?
GreenArrow11
I don’t know. That’s why I don’t let anyone in.
And don’t tell me I’m a hypocrite for telling you how to solve a problem using a solution I would never use on myself. I’m not a hypocrite, because it’s not a problem to me, okay?
GracieLou
I don’t believe you.
Also, you’re wrong. You *do* let people in.
You’ve let me in.
GreenArrow11
Only because you’re cute.
GracieLou
*picks teeth with dagger*
If we ever meet face to face, you have to promise not to be disappointed.
GreenArrow11
Not possible.
But that’s not likely, right?
Aren’t you happy with what we have?
GracieLou
Totally! <3
Just remember: letting people in is amazing!
GreenArrow11
I’ll take that under advisement.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
How do I tell him I’m not happy with what we have when he’s all I have?
It’s not like I want him to propose, but he’s my closest friend, and this is all I ever get. Conversation, back-and-forth, thoughts and feelings. But not questions. I told him I had a case that ended up blowing my life up, and he didn’t pry at all.
Our conversations are all theory, no application.
I can tell him in the vaguest terms, “here’s my problem.
What am I supposed to do?” but never with all the context and specifics that can help me in the real world.
And I never get to laugh about coworkers.
Even now, I can’t really complain that my boss put me on a case I said I didn’t want, because he won’t take the bait.
There’s no chance for me to share how hard it was, to sob over how I got triggered in a courtroom looking at kids staring at their dad in a way that was all too familiar …
Why is this so hard?
What if I’m honest and say, “Actually, I’m not happy. I want more. I want to meet you. I want this to be real!”
But what if he says no and I lose everything we do have?
I log off without our normal sign-off. I’m too hurt, not by Arrow, but by my own expectations.
We were both clear about what we wanted when we started chatting last year.
It’s not his fault I need more.
I plug in my phone. The shower’s off, but the door’s still closed. What’s Fletch doing in there, shaving? Trolling people on Reddit? The door finally opens, and my eyes drop.
He’s only wearing a towel around his waist.
And wow, is he fit.
Svelte.
Very well maintained.
Water droplets trace paths down his chest. My brain shorts out for a second.
I shouldn’t even be noticing this … this shirtless, dripping man. And the sight of him definitely shouldn’t make my stomach feel like it’s packed with obnoxiously fluttering butterflies.
“Uh, this isn’t exactly clothing optional,” I say, my voice an octave higher than usual, my cheeks flushing like I just stepped out of a sauna.
Ollie looks at me with a V between his brows. “I forgot my bag when I went into the shower. You okay? Never seen a shirtless guy before?”
I roll my eyes. “We didn’t all spend years in locker rooms, bro.” I throw his hoodie at him. “Put some clothes on.”
“Or you could stop staring,” he says, not quite hiding a smirk.
I grab my bag and roll it into the bathroom. “You’re literally shirtless. It’s kind of hard to miss.”
I slam the door, and I hear his dry voice call, “So you already miss it?”
“Not even!” I say through the closed door.
“You liked it!”
I take a cold shower, not because I’m thinking about his abs—I’M NOT—but because he makes me so angry, I’m boiling.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.