Chapter Twenty-One Olivia
Olivia took pride in her fearlessness. Or at least, her ability to master fear.
When they’d still lived in their old apartment, she’d stomped on cockroaches the size of playing cards while Marigold cowered.
She’d stood up to sexist law school professors and taken down some of the city’s most feared litigators.
But the thought of knocking on Zack’s door somehow felt more daunting than any of these encounters.
Would he really believe that Lulu had given Olivia’s room away?
Or would he assume that she’d gotten carried away by their fake-dating scheme and was no longer able to distinguish between reality and fantasy?
Olivia had a spreadsheet with all the guests’ room assignments, but she felt weird about rolling up with no warning.
Yet the thought of texting Jonathan and asking for Zack’s phone number at one a.m. was even more mortifying.
She had his email address, but there was no guarantee he’d check before bed.
She supposed she could drive the golf cart back to the cottage, but then who would believe that she and Zack were in a relationship?
The last thing Lulu needed right now was proof that her older daughter couldn’t hang on to a man for more than twenty-four hours.
Finally, she steeled herself and knocked on Zack’s door.
He opened it a few moments later. It didn’t seem like she’d roused him from sleep, though he’d clearly been getting ready for bed.
He had on flannel pajama pants but wasn’t wearing a shirt, and it took all of Olivia’s well-developed self-control not to stare.
His lanky body had a lot more lean muscle that she would’ve expected, including defined biceps and abs approaching a six-pack.
An image flashed into her head of Zack doing weighted sit-ups with a one-thousand-page copy of Das Kapital.
“Hey,” he said. “Everything okay?”
She explained the conundrum with her aunt’s room and told him about Lulu’s request. “But only if you feel comfortable,” Olivia added quickly. “I can easily find somewhere else to sleep.” Like the front porch. Or maybe the golf cart.
“Yeah, sure, no problem.” He stepped to the side and held the door open for her. He sounded a bit flat. Maybe he had been asleep? Or perhaps he just resented having women he barely knew showing up with their luggage in the middle of the night.
Zack’s room was a bit smaller than hers but decorated similarly, with antique wooden furniture—or excellent reproductions—a scratchy hooked rug under the brass bed, dainty floral wallpaper, and framed nautical prints.
But whereas Olivia had been living out of her suitcase, Zack’s belongings were everywhere: a few pair of shoes lined up neatly next to the dresser, a stack of books on the desk, a pile of used workout clothes in a heap next to the bathroom, and a night table covered with all manner of pill bottles, hand cream, toiletry bag, reading glasses, ChapStick, and tissues.
Olivia hadn’t seen anything like the nightstand since she’d last visited her great-grandmother in her nursing home.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Olivia said, eyeing the queen-sized bed.
“It’s okay. I can take the floor.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s your room, and you’re the one doing me a massive favor.”
“You have a big day tomorrow. I just need to avoid getting too drunk to stand during the ceremony.”
“Those sound like my marching orders as well.” Olivia took a throw blanket from the end of Zack’s bed and laid it on the floor. “I’m fine here, I promise. Okay if take a pillow?”
Zack handed her one, along with the quilt. “Use them both. I’ll be fine with just the top sheet. I run hot.”
When it came time to take her sleepwear out of her suitcase, she hesitated.
She’d had Andrew in mind when she’d packed her nightgown, a sexy black slip that came to midthigh, but if she were trying to assure Zack that her my aunt took my room story wasn’t a ruse, this outfit wasn’t going to help her case.
But the other option would be a T-shirt and underwear, which was objectively worse.
Perhaps she wasn’t as fearless as she’d thought.
She went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, then changed into her nightgown.
There was no full-length mirror, of course.
These old-timey inns never had them. Perhaps it was for historical accuracy.
After all, the colonists didn’t have to make sure their nightgowns covered their ass cheeks.
In an act of desperation, Olivia stepped onto the toilet and tried to examine her reflection that way.
She frowned; it was definitely on the edge of inappropriate, but still her best option.
When she came out of the bathroom, she made a beeline for her makeshift bed, eager to get under the blanket as quickly as possible. “Good night,” she said, avoiding Zack’s eyes. “Thanks again for this.”
“No problem.” He switched off the lamp on the nightstand.
For the first few minutes, an unnatural silence filled the room, as though they were each taking care not to move at all.
Olivia’s shoulder ached on the hard floor, but she felt weirdly self-conscious rolling over.
I would’ve been more comfortable in the golf cart.
“Seems like the plan is working,” Zack said finally.
“What do you mean?” Olivia asked, tensing, convinced that Zack thought she’d concocted a plan to get into his room.
“You and Andrew looked really cozy on the porch.”
“You were watching us?”
“I wasn’t watching you. I saw you when I came back from my walk.”
“Our little adventure earlier today wasn’t enough exercise for you?”
“I went to buy an Ace bandage for your foot. But the stores were all closed.”
A strange kind of warmth seeped through her chest. She wasn’t used to people going out of their way to care for her like that.
“Yeah, everything in town shuts down at eight. That was really nice of you, though.” She imagined Zack wandering from store to store, squinting at the locked doors through the storm.
He didn’t answer, and for a second, she thought he’d fallen asleep, but then he said, “What happened to Emerson?”
“Andrew said she was out with friends who live on the island.”
“I guess that answers the girlfriend question.”
“Couples don’t have to spend every second of the day together.”
“No, but they don’t canoodle in the dark with other people unless they’re total shitheads.”
“Do you really think that counted as canoodling?” Olivia’s skin tingled at the memory of Andrew’s hand on her arm.
“Seemed like it, though it was hard to tell in the dark.” A smile crept into his voice. “But, of course, it depends on whether you’re measuring it on the American or European scale.”
“I didn’t realize you could measure canoodling with both the imperial and metric systems.”
“Oh yes. What I saw seemed like a three in European canoodling, and an eight on the American scale.”
“It’s really hard to scandalize Europeans, isn’t it? Especially the Germans. They’re so much freer than us, aren’t they?”
“That Liesl is something else. I’m glad Jonathan warned me about her.”
“Really? What’d he say?”
“Just that she’d probably hit on me, not because she was actually interested, but because she needed assurance that every man around wanted her.”
“He nailed that one on the head,” Olivia said. “It’s fascinating—she’s been like that since she was twelve.”
“Kind of sad, isn’t it?”
“That’s one word for it.”
“I’m a little disappointed I cut her off so quickly. I mean, how far does it go?”
“Dunno. You should call her bluff and tell her you want to try some move you learned in a German sex club. A kaiserschnoodle or something.”
Zack laughed. “A king poodle?”
“Don’t laugh at my sexual proclivities. I thought you were supposed to be the open-minded one.”
“Oh, I am. It’s just that the kaiserschnoodle is too tame for me. I prefer a glockenspieltergeist.”
“So… a glockenspiel ghost?”
“There’s no English word for it. But trust me, your boy Andrew wouldn’t be able to pull it off.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
They fell silent, and Olivia assumed this meant it was time to sleep, but just when she was certain Zack had drifted off, he said “Weinerfraude.”
Olivia giggled, then buried her face in her pillow. “Okay, enough! I get it!”
This time, the silence lasted longer than before, and it was nearly five full minutes before Zack shouted, “Get the schnitzel away from my pickle!” He sat up, and in the darkness he mimed wiping sweat off his brow. “Sorry, I think I was having a nightmare.”
Olivia burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. “Oh my god, I can’t breathe.”
“I’ll stop now,” Zack said. “I know you’re trying to sleep.”
“It’s okay. It normally takes me hours to fall asleep.”
“Why?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious.
“I don’t know… It’s hard to turn my brain off sometimes.”
“I get that. Anything in particular at the moment?”
“It’s… it’s hard to relax. I feel like if I fall asleep, something bad will happen.” My mom will call me again and I won’t hear my phone. She’ll be scared and in pain, and I won’t get to her in time. Every time I close my eyes, I brace for the sound of the world crumbling around me.
“That sounds awful.”
“There are worse things.”
“I’m sorry.” He paused and then, tentatively, with the care of someone stepping onto thin ice, he said, “Is it about your mom?”
“Yeah, mostly… She told me about the care package, by the way. That was really thoughtful of you.”
“I was happy to. Your mom’s awesome. Jonathan won the mother-in-law lottery.”
“He did.” Her voice shook slightly. What if Olivia didn’t meet her future husband until after…
well, after it was too late? How could she marry someone who’d never known Lulu?
Who only thought of her as a whimsically dressed character in photos instead of a living, breathing, dancing, art-creating being?
“Are you worried right now?” Zack asked quietly.