Chapter 22 – Vale #2
“What Nick didn’t tell you of course, is that these pages aren’t mine to share with the world. I’m only their keeper. They belong to my mother,” Oliver says, and I immediately turn toward the sound of his voice.
My cheeks heat when I take him in. He’s leaning against a finely carved mahogany bookshelf, wearing a black apron that says kiss the cook in bright red letters.
I try to calm my treacherous heart and the giggle that wants to bubble up because of that apron.
How does he do that? You think you know a man and how serious he is, but suddenly he’s got a man bun and a kiss the cook apron on.
Every time I see him it’s something different, which doesn’t fit in this puzzle. I wish I knew him better. I wish I understood him more. I have to look away, back to the precious pages that have my Gramps so enthralled. If I don’t, I’ll be stuck staring at him and Gramps will be pissed.
“Obviously Oliver can’t part with something which doesn’t belong to him, Gramps. His mom might kick his ass.” I chuckle and Gramps sighs sadly.
“You’re right. I know you’re right. Oliver, I hope your mother comes to visit soon. I need to talk to her about these.” Then, before my grandfather can continue, Oliver excuses himself.
Gramps is staring down at the pages lovingly or longingly, I’m not sure which, so I ask him where the kitchen is so I can offer Oliver my help.
He tells me the direction, and I leave him there, a bit worried about the look in his eyes.
I understand Gramps thinks this knowledge should be shared with the world, but this is their family business.
They should decide the fate of those pages, not him.
Outside the library, there’s a small dining room to the left that opens into the kitchen.
When I get to the open door, I’m hauled through it.
I’m pressed against a wall so suddenly the breath leaves my lungs entirely.
Oliver leans over me, his eyes wide as he says, “I want to suck your blood,” in a fairly comical, Lugosi-esque accent.
Who is this man?
I can’t help it, I laugh so hard my eyes tear up. “God, Oliver you’re such a weirdo.”
The look in those unique green eyes is anything but amused.
Then, as if he can’t control himself, he’s on me.
His lips and teeth are at my neck. His gentle bites over my sensitive flesh set me aflame.
He increases the pressure in warning, but he doesn’t hurt me.
I can hear him inhaling the scent of my skin, breathing me in.
I reach out for him, but he’s gone before I can wrap him up in my arms. I’m left leaning against the wall, aching for those lips once again while he's behind a stone kitchen island, chopping lettuce like nothing happened. How is he able to hide this so easily?
I take a deep breath as I watch him, my world turning on its axis. Whenever I’m around him it’s like I’m high or dizzy. Will I ever stop feeling this way? Do I want to stop feeling like this? Finally, I’m able to calm my heart.
I clear my throat. “Do you need any help?”
When he looks up from his lettuce, his pale skin is flushed a bit at the top of his cheeks. Then he smiles at me and his whole face lights up, and I swear it’s like he was made for love. Beauty seeps out of him.
I feel special when he looks at me. But when he smiles at me, I feel like a god.
As I watch him in the fading light that’s cascading through the windows around the back door, it occurs to me that that’s his superpower. He can make anyone fall in love with him. He’s beyond beautiful, like an angel birthed from the exquisite intricacy of the cosmos.
My heart aches in my chest, seeing him like this in the watery light that spills across his head, his shoulders. He’s something ethereal—not of this world.
I feel lucky to be able to witness him existing.
It was easier in the dark last night, when he kissed me, when he touched everything, maybe even my soul.
It’s harder in the light, harder to deny how much I want him.
No, it isn’t easy. It’s more than the pressure and heat it takes to create a diamond.
It’s painful looking at him but not being able to touch him.
I want him so badly. I want his body against mine.
I want his hands all over me. I want to feel his breath against my skin, his demanding kisses.
He was right last night, but I was so willing to deny it.
In this moment, I acknowledge his power over me, this intoxicating man.
I want everything, all of him. He should be mine.
It feels like we were meant to be. It feels like fate. Oliver is my destiny. I know it in my soul. How do I show him the truth that I already know deep inside?
I breathe calmly, deeply, shoring up my courage.
I step over to him and tug on his apron, turning him to face me as if I’m in control for once.
I need that power too; I can’t let it fall through my fingers.
I can’t stop. I wouldn’t want to. I lift up on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him forward.
I kiss him right there in his sparkling, chef’s dream kitchen.
He doesn’t have a moment to stop what’s happening.
I taste his lips as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer.
I can’t get close enough. I never can, and those touches, so fleeting, they’re never enough.
The kiss only lasts seconds before he pulls away.
I’m devoid once more of the warmth and safety of his arms as he steps back on his heel to look at me with a gentle smile.
“You’re a bad girl,” he whispers, shaking his head as his eyes linger on my lips. “We can’t do this now.”
“I know,” I tell him. It breaks my heart all over again. He’s right of course. We can’t, yet it’s all I want. “But I want—” I stop because I hear footsteps. “Pasta,” I say as my grandfather steps into the kitchen.
“We’ll dine alfresco,” Oliver says as he gathers several covered dishes, placing them on a tray. He steps out the back door quickly, like he needs to escape. Sadly, I think it’s me he needs to escape from.
I stand at the counter and continue chopping the lettuce as Gramps grabs another cloche covered tray.
He follows Oliver through the back door.
When the door shuts, I drop the knife and step over to the window to look out.
Oliver sits the tray down, then turns to look out over the backyard.
Lights come on and start to twinkle like tiny stars around him.
With the sun setting behind his head, for a moment, he looks like an angel, a halo of orange light clinging to him. His cheek twitches, and I realize he’s trying not to smile. He’s fighting it, but it’s there all the same. This smile isn’t for anyone else, just for him, a secret I’ll keep forever.
Gramps walks up to him and pats him on the back.
He turns toward Gramps, but his eyes slide to me at the window and I jump.
I’ve been caught. Then his smile changes, his eyes light up.
Gramps starts to turn back to the door, but I rush back to the counter to finish chopping the lettuce.
It’s what I should have done from the start instead of ogling him.