Chapter 12
“Hey, beautiful boy,” Oliver croons into the phone.
I’m in bed, and I decided to check in with him before I fall asleep.
“I miss you so much.” It’s been over two months since I met him at the club.
We went on a few dates before he returned to the States and spent most nights on the phone for weeks before he flew back to London to see me in May.
“I miss you, too,” I admit. It’s been three weeks since I saw him last. We still haven’t labeled whatever this is, and I’m not in a rush to do that.
It’s been nice getting to know him. He’s nice.
The sex is nice. Everything is…nice. I do miss him.
We have a lot of fun together, he’s easy to talk to.
Everything with him feels easy. Not in the way it did with Darío, but still, easy is what I need.
I’m not ready for anything serious, and he’s been supportive about going at my pace.
“How’s the project coming along? I know you and Penelope have been putting in long hours.
” His genuine interest in my work has gone a long way in ramping up my own excitement for the project.
I tell him how we’re moving a lot quicker on the new campaign than originally expected.
He hums in acknowledgement in all the right places, asking questions about the design process throughout the conversation.
Having Penelope in London is exactly the cure I needed.
She calls me out on my bullshit, and she pushes and challenges me at work, which has reignited my passion for Lust & Lace.
We run together every day now, despite her incessant whining.
More than anything, my weekly therapy sessions with Megan have been life changing.
We’ve worked on how I deal with stress, grief, and anxiety.
I have an entire toolkit of healthy coping mechanisms, and I try hard to use them when needed.
I wasn’t entirely sold on counseling when I started it, but looking back on the last eight months since arriving in London, I can see a huge difference.
More than that, though, I can feel the difference.
“Are you able to get away for Fourth of July?” Oliver’s question has nerves settling in my belly.
He invited me to stay with him for the holiday, and it occurs to me that it’s the following weekend.
I can take the time, but I’ve been hesitant to commit.
“I was hoping with the progress you’ve made, it wouldn’t be hard for you to get the time, but if you’re not sure, there really is no pressure. ”
“I can come. I’ll book my flights tonight,” I tell him, making a snap decision.
“I’m excited to see you, Oli.” I feel the truth of that when I say it, and it eases some of the anxiety I’ve been carrying about going back to the States.
It’s a trip, not a proposal. Oliver has been more than patient with me, not pushing for more than I’m able to give.
While we haven’t talked a lot about it, he’s aware of the impact my breakup with Dare has had on me.
“Perfect, text me the details so I know when to get you from the airport. I know we talked about you staying with me, and I’d love that, but if you’re more comfortable staying in a hotel, I can book one for you,” he says.
There’s no manipulation or attempt at making me feel guilty.
In a lot of ways, it feels like he treats me with kid gloves, which is sometimes frustrating.
“I’ll stay with you,” I say, appreciating the consideration he extends to me. “We don’t see each other often, and I love falling asleep next to you.”
“Me too, sweetheart. I have to run, but text me with your flight details. Sleep well, Harlan.” I smile even though he can’t see it, because despite the time difference, he always makes time for me before bed.
“Sweet dreams, Oliver.” I disconnect the call and pull up a browser on my phone to book my flights. Cringing at the cost, I confirm the details. Let this be a lesson in not waiting until the last minute.
A gentle hand on my shoulder startles me awake, and I meet the soft gaze of the flight attendant.
“Sorry to alarm you, Mr. Bishop. We’ll be landing in San Francisco soon, so if you could adjust your seat and buckle your seatbelt, I would really appreciate it.
” It’s nice to put my miles to use from all my travel to upgrade to first class.
The seats are infinitely better, and so are the snacks.
Shaking off the sleep haze, I do as I was asked and thank her softly.
The sky is pitch black when I turn my sight to the window next to me.
I don’t normally sleep when I fly, but the wine I had with dinner hit me harder than expected.
I stretch my arms above my head, eager to get off the plane and actually move.
Navigating customs takes less time than expected, so I quickly grab my luggage from baggage reclaim.
I see Oliver by the doors, and his face breaks out in a huge smile.
He engulfs me in a hug, and I yawn against his shoulder.
“Tired, baby?” He kisses the top of my head before gripping my chin and ghosts his lips over mine in a chaste kiss.
“I’m not sure why since I slept for most of the flight,” I say apologetically. It feels as though I haven’t slept in days. The time difference between England and California is tough.
“Travel is a different type of exhaustion. Let me take your suitcase, and we can go home and get some sleep.” He smiles before letting me go.
I suppose I didn’t need to check a bag for an extended weekend, but Oliver didn’t tell me what he had planned, so I packed for a variety of occasions.
He teases me about my neon luggage, but it makes it easy to find after a long flight.
When we arrive at his condo in the Marina District, I don’t even take in my surroundings as he leads me inside.
My eyes are burning with exhaustion. “I’m sorry I’m terrible company tonight,” I apologize through another yawn.
Leaning heavily into Oliver’s side, I close my eyes when he stops in the entryway to take off his shoes.
“I have a present for you,” I remember, suddenly.
I loaded up my bag with Galaxy chocolate bars for Oli at the airport.
They’re his favorite, and he can’t get them in America.
“No apologies. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.
You’ll get the grand tour after you’ve slept.
You can give me my gift in the morning when you’re able to keep your eyes open.
” It’s after midnight in California, which means it’s 8 a.m. in London.
I would have already started my day, so I guess I should be grateful that I’m tired in the middle of the night.
Oliver’s bedroom is as efficient as he is.
Bright white walls, with a king-sized bed situated against a navy blue accent wall.
Dark gray bedding covers the mattress, and the stack of pillows has me ready to weep with relief.
Oliver doesn’t let me stop at the bed, though.
He leads me past a set of doors that must lead to the terrace he sits on most nights when we talk, and into his en suite.
I make quick work of washing up and brushing my teeth.
He pokes his head in, handing me a stack of sleep clothes from my bag.
As we settle into bed, I groan at the way the soft mattress sinks under my weight. I’m positive I’ve never felt a more comfortable bed in my life. “You sleep on a cloud every night,” I observe. If I could live here forever, it wouldn’t be the worst thing.
“I do. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a bit of a princess about my mattresses,” Oliver laughs softly, pulling me against his body. “Would you like to go to a baseball game tomorrow night? My company has a suite, and a group of friends planned to go.”
At the mention of baseball, my pulse quickens, and I must stiffen, because I feel Oliver shift to try to see my face in the dark.
I haven’t thought much of baseball and avoid any updates on the Scorpions like it’s my job.
I unfollowed the team’s official social media accounts and muted the players that I still follow.
There are so many memories tied to the sport that even though I enjoy it immensely, it’s been easier to ignore.
“You ok? If you don’t want to go, we don’t have to,” he whispers gently before kissing my temple.
“No, no. It’s ok. That’s fine,” I assure him. Sleep overtakes me before I think to ask who San Francisco is playing. That can be a problem for future Harlan.