Chapter 2 – Vale #2
I grab the plate of steaks and pop them on the grill.
It’s so hot now I can’t leave them on for more than a minute and a half per side for fear that Oliver’s steak wouldn’t be exactly what he wants.
I don’t know why I care. I shouldn’t, we just met, but Gramps says we should always try to make a good impression on people.
I need a do-over!
I grab the tray and the solid metal tongs which I left beside the grill. I hear my skin sizzle. “Fuck!” I yelp, dropping the tongs with a clatter. I run into the house, turning on the kitchen tap and thrusting my hand under the cold water. My eyes are closed when Gramps and Oliver enter behind me.
“Are you alright?” Gramps asks, and I nod my head.
“The food!” I screech, pointing at the deck and he steps outside, leaving me alone with Oliver who watches me intently.
He glides forward, grabbing my hand from under the water, then inspecting it. The burn starts to sting as the air touches it. I try to pull back, but he holds on tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and I wonder why he’s apologizing.
Why would he be sorry when I’m the klutz?
My fingers are turning red while he inspects them. The burn is worse than I thought; it’s going to blister. “Why are you sorry?”
Oliver looks into my eyes. He looks genuinely apologetic, his eyebrows knitted together and his lips in a thin, worried line. I try to pull my hand away once more, but he doesn’t allow it. His fingers tighten around my wrist. I swallow hard, intimidated and not knowing how to get my hand back.
“I distracted you from your duty,” he says the last word with extreme enunciation, his accent so thick it makes me wonder where he’s from, but I’m too overwhelmed to ask.
My cheeks heat in embarrassment. He knows how I’m feeling. I can see it in his eyes. He’s felt it before, but I still have to deny it. Oliver Byron is too old for me, probably. He’s a man and I’m a girl. I can’t have any sort of relationship with him. Not even if I wanted it.
He lifts my hand to his lips. There’s a moment where I think he’s going to kiss my wounds like my grandmother used to.
Instead, at the last second, he shocks me by pulling my index finger into his mouth.
He suckles it into the warm depths, stroking his tongue over my finger.
He does the same to the next finger, then the next until he’s staring down at my pinky. That finger receives a gentle kiss.
“I’ll leave that one, so you’ll remember,” Oliver says before turning and walking out the door like nothing happened. But it did happen, and he’s shaken my world to its foundations.
I stare after him as I release the breath I’d been holding.
What does he mean by remember? How could I ever forget what he did?
I take a second to think about it. Does he want me to remember his lips?
The warm, wet recess of his mouth maybe?
Or does he want me to remember how awkward I am? I’m unsure.
I look down at my hand and see the strangest thing. There’s only a single, tiny burn on my pinky. The rest of my fingers are fine. They’d been so red where I’d wrapped my fingers around the metal tongs, I was sure they’d blister. What the hell did he do? Maybe he had magic saliva?
I rub some vitamin E oil on my pinky, then wrap it in a Band-Aid before rejoining them outside. Every few seconds, the stinging from the burn reminds me of his mouth, his tongue, his warm breath against my wrist. The way his lips wrapped around each finger gently as if not to hurt me further.
I eat in silence as Gramps and Oliver chat. I don’t listen to them. I can’t pay attention. When I can’t eat another bite, having eaten my meal but not tasted it at all, I clear the table without a word. I take the dishes into the house as both men thank me for the food.
I stand at the sink, cleaning plates and stacking the dishes. I’m on autopilot, shut off and trapped by the thought of his mouth, his lips that touched me. Did I imagine that whole scene playing out? Had it all been in my head? Have I gone crazy? Surely, no one would ever do something like that.
I’m looking into the darkness through the kitchen window when Gramps stumbles in. “Don’t be rude, Vale. Say good night. I’m off to find Oliver’s keys.”
When I step out, there’s a soft breeze blowing, the scent of pine trees and incoming rain on the air. I close my eyes, turning my face into the breeze, feeling it against my heated cheeks.
“Do I frighten you?” Oliver asks, his voice too close. He can’t be so close to me. I won’t survive.
I open my eyes, but I don’t turn around to look at him. “Do you want me to be frightened of you?”
Oliver lets out an audible breath. “It might be better for us both if you were, but no, I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I’m sorry about how I’ve acted around you. You were unexpected, to say the least.” He walks around to face me.
His words make me smile. “Well, let’s agree on that. I was under the impression you were some old, retired architect who was obsessed with how the walls must be plaster and not drywall,” I say, then laugh. “Then you show up and look like this and well, I’m surprised, at the very least.”
His smile is so big his bright white and perfectly straight teeth show. He’s so beautiful. “Not retired or an old man, but you had me pinned, I’m an architect. There’s a lot of plaster in there, admittedly.” He chuckles and his cheeks flush as if he’s embarrassed by that fact.
Oliver takes my hand in his. He presses his lips against my skin where my knuckles meet the back of my hand.
He lingers for a second or two while he watches my reaction.
When he lifts his head he asks, “How old are you?” That predatory look is back, and I can feel the fire encasing me.
He shouldn’t be asking me that. It seems too personal for some reason.
“I’m eighteen, almost nineteen. How old are you?”
He drops my hand as if it’s burning him, then closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“I’m too old for you, sweetheart, way too old, but one day I’ll be just right.
” I take his words as a seductive promise, that one day the timing would be right for both of us.
It’s a promise I won’t stop thinking about for the rest of the summer, possibly the rest of my life.
What does he want from me?
I’m about to ask when Gramps steps out of the house and I lose my chance. I say good night to Oliver and Gramps before running upstairs to my room. Who knew I could feel so shattered by a person? Oh, how quickly he’s stolen my peaceful summer. I think he’s broken my brain, maybe on purpose.