T H I R T Y S E V E N
T H I R T YS E V E N
- Avery -
I couldn’t wait to tell Grace that Oliver had pulled off her tricky tart recipe. No doubt she’d be relieved. It couldn’t have been easy for her to suggest something so challenging. She knew better than anyone that something like her no-bake chocolate cheesecake, for example, packed as much punch flavor-wise without the cruel margin for error. Perhaps the fact that she hadn’t let him off easy was a timely reminder that I should think twice before I did.
Then again, if I didn’t give him the second chance he so earnestly appeared to want, he’d inevitably make some other woman very happy someday.
Oliver poured the last of the wine into our glasses, and I took it as a cue to start considering my exit plan. As much as my body from the neck down wanted to stay, my mind was determined to make sure I walked out with my dignity intact.
I glanced at the clock. Then down at Simba. He was studying me so intensely I felt like the subject of a life-drawing class. “I don’t think Simba likes me.”
“If that’s true, it’s my fault,” Oliver said. “He knows too much.”
“Is that so?”
Oliver nodded and cleared my dessert plate, which was a relief since I’d been fighting the urge to lick it clean. Who could think about dignity when dark chocolate was within reach?!
“What exactly did you tell him?” I asked, squinting at Simba.
“I didn’t have to tell him anything,” Oliver said with a shrug. “He was here when I first started torturing you for sport and here when I started torturing myself for lying to you.”
If Simba’s steely green gaze was anything to go by, he wouldn’t be spilling his secrets anytime soon.
“I suppose I might’ve let it slip that you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”
I bit the inside of my lip.
“But he won’t agree until he associates you with getting fed.” He leaned down to drop another lump of lobster into Simba’s bowl, and his four-legged companion hurried over to make it disappear. “You want to learn how to break into a lobster?”
“Now?”
“Should be a breeze compared to the puzzle box.”
I wondered if he suspected I had help. If he did, he wasn’t letting on. I drank the last sip of wine in my glass and wandered around the counter.
He showed me how to break up the lobster one section at a time, starting with the claws. I was pleasantly surprised by his patient instruction, the lack of mansplaining, and how much he appreciated my interest. Then again, his dad had probably been giving him impromptu cooking tutorials his whole life. So it made sense that he’d be excited to share his knowledge, along with a side of himself the cameras never bothered to capture.
We took turns washing our hands, and when he offered me a fresh tea towel, I felt a hard pinch in my chest. It grounded me in the present moment and made me aware of what I had in front of me. Aware of what I had to lose.
“There’s only one more step,” he said, tilting his head towards the pile of lobster meat on the cutting board.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was trying to keep me here a while longer. I watched him pull a covered bowl from the fridge. “What’s that?”
“This is my secret weapon.” He chucked the lobster chunks in a bowl and began adding heaping spoonfuls of the golden sauce.
“What does it do?”
“It makes you miss me.”
My heart swelled.
“It hasn’t been tested yet, obviously. But when you’re ruminating on whether you want to make a real go of this tomorrow, please take your delicious lobster lunch into consideration. Because you aren’t going to find anyone on Tinder who makes Michelin-quality mayo like I do.
“It does look good,” I said, watching him stir the mixture. “If it’s mayo, why is it orange?”
“Because it’s spicy.”
My mouth watered. How was that even possible after the feast we just had?! Madness.
He filled a square Tupperware container and put it in a paper bag with two small rolls.
“What about the rest of it?” I joked.
“Simba and I will worry about that.”
With my goody bag ready, it seemed like the right time to make my exit. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
His eyes found mine. “A good night?”
I nodded before walking around the counter to collect my purse.
“Text me when you get home.”
“Oliver.”
“Do it,” he said seriously. “Or I’ll worry.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
“Thanks for coming,” he said, handing me my goody bag. “And for helping me polish off the lobster. I never could’ve eaten it all on my own.”
I feigned a scowl. “I thought you weren’t going to lie anymore.”
“I’m not lying. A sauce that rich is meant to be shared.”
As an only child, sharing had never been my strong suit, but with him… it felt different. Fun. Natural. Like I was gaining instead of losing. “Goodnight, Oliver.”
He walked me to the door, but I could tell he wasn’t going to kiss me. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one playing games. Still, I was grateful he didn’t make me guess.
“If you don’t text me when you get home, I’m going to blast Tom Jones through the walls, starting with ‘Delilah.’” He pulled the door open for me.
“Please don’t spoil a perfectly good evening by doing that.”
He stole a glance at my lips. “Please don’t forget to text.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous is walking home alone wearing shoes you can’t run in.”
I stepped forward and rose onto my toes so I could whisper in his ear. “Maybe I want to get caught.” Then I stepped back and sauntered down the hall, smiling at the knowledge that he was watching me every step of the way.
I turned the key in my door and glanced back at him.
He nodded in my direction as if to say, “Just looking out for you.”
My cheeks flooded with warmth as I pushed my door open, and when I looked back, he was gone. Waiting for that text no doubt.
It seemed silly to play along, but it would’ve been even sillier to pretend I wasn’t thinking about him. Plus, I knew he’d genuinely blast Tom Jones if I hesitated to fulfill his request. His apartment stretched to the corner of the building, and I was the only neighbor he shared a wall with, so his antics all along had never been for anyone but me.
“Home safe,” I typed, wishing my apartment smelled like a sunny café beside the Mediterranean Sea. “Thanks again for a memorable evening.”
I set my phone on the counter and slipped my heels off, my head spinning with how nice it was to be spoiled by such a smart, interesting, handsome guy. Not only did I feel cool in his company, but I felt something else, too. Something new. Something beyond safe.
I struggled to name the feeling, my mind a sudden montage of memories from that evening and all the others we’d shared before, and then it hit me… Cherished. He made me feel cherished.
My phone pinged on the counter, and I picked it up to read his response.
“I would’ve kissed you goodnight if I didn’t respect the fact that you were trying to make a point.”
I sighed.
“I wanted to.”
A soft ache spread through my chest.
“I always want to.”
I didn’t know what to say. I always want to kiss you, too? That was the truth. But it wasn’t the whole truth. The whole truth was that I wanted so much more than someone sexy to kiss. Maybe for the first time in my life. And admitting that felt scary. But what terrified me even more was that, deep down, I sincerely hoped Oliver would turn out to be both the sexy someone and the more I was looking for.
He might not be perfect, but I couldn’t imagine him ever taking me for granted or becoming less interesting to me. His writing was gripping. The ease with which he won people over was masterful, myself included. And the bottom line was that I liked being around him. Kissing him. Pleasuring him. Letting him treat me.
So what if he broke my heart? Better a spent heart than a safe one.
Except I didn’t know if I really believed that. All I knew was that there would be no peace in my life as long as I pretended I was cool with being “just neighbors.” Maybe if I’d never discovered how good we were together, ignorance could’ve been bliss. But it was far too late for that. The way his hard body looked in boxers had been burned to the back of my eyelids and distracted me with every blink.
“You staying up for a while?” I asked finally.
“Probably,” he said. “Still have some cleanup to do in the kitchen, and I have to write in my diary about what a wonderful night we had.”
I should’ve insisted on helping him clean up. Then again, I’d been wearing my peacocking shoes, which could barely support my weight, much less the weight of me and a plate. “What are you going to write?”
“Probably a list of all the things I would’ve done to you if you’d decided to stay.”
Decided to stay?! He’s the one who sent me packing with a goody bag. Speaking of which… I put the lobster salad in the fridge and sealed the fresh rolls in a ziplock bag. Then I went to change out of my dress into something more comfortable. Normally, I’d pull some sleep shorts from my pajama drawer on autopilot, but when I slid it open, the first item that caught my eye was the neglected negligee. I held it up by the thin straps, wishing it was a souvenir from a sexy night well spent instead of a symbol of… My phone pinged.
“All the indecent, filthy things.”
My insides fired. Why was he telling me this now?! Oh right. Because he knew I was trying to make a point, and he was determined to make it hard for me. The question was, how hard?
“I even set aside some extra whipped cream and chocolate sauce for the occasion.”
I bit my lip, wondering if I should tell him to warm it up. Give him the punishment he wanted instead of the one he deserved.
Instead, I answered him by showing up at his door in a silk robe two minutes later.
“What a nice surprise,” he said, like he wasn’t surprised at all.
I let the robe fall open, revealing the naughty negligee he never got to spend the night with. “Let’s try this again…”