Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Alight dusting of snow covers the ground when I walk from my car up the steps to my apartment.
Oliver forced me out earlier, insisting that he had “work” to do while I went to class.
I can’t fathom that he’d have anything to work on considering he’s from another time, but I didn’t argue.
Finals are looming, and if I miss any more classes, I swear my professor will fail me out of pure spite.
I push the door open to my apartment and nearly drop my bookbag. Breathing deeply, I kick off my shoes and walk into the kitchen. It smells absolutely divine, like an Italian restaurant, and when I walk to the stove, a pan of red sauce bubbles creating a delicious-smelling steam.
“You’re home early,” Oliver says, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “I planned on having this all set up for you by the time you came in. Give me a minute and I’ll make us a plate.”
“What is all of this?” I ask, walking to the table and settling into a chair.
“This is”—his cheeks redden as he shoves his hands into his pockets—“it’s a date. Well, only if you’d like it to be.”
I smile, looking down at the table. “Do you want it to be?”
“I do,” he admits, and my heart flutters in my chest.
“Me too,” I whisper. At my confession, Oliver stands up straighter, his confidence returning. I watch him as he navigates my kitchen with ease, pulling plates and silverware out before plating two perfect portions of spaghetti and meatballs.
Oliver sets a plate in front of me before pulling out the chair opposite me and sliding into it. “I’ve been thinking…”
“Oh, you think? I wouldn’t have known,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
“Ha ha,” he says, rolling his eyes. “As I was saying, I’ve been so focused on my sister’s disappearance that I’ve not allowed myself to just enjoy what time I have here.
My entire life has been all about work or school or pleasing someone, and I hadn’t realized that being here…
with you is the best opportunity to just be. I’m being selfish for once.”
My cheeks heat. “I don’t mind you being selfish, Oliver.” I pause, looking at the plate of food while I gather my thoughts. My heart thunders, but I force myself to keep going. “If I’m honest…I’ve been selfish too.”
His brows lift, curious. “Oh?”
I toy with my fork, staring at the swirl of noodles like they might save me from myself.
“You said earlier that if you’d met me in your time, I’d have given you trouble.
And I keep thinking about that because I wish you had met me in your time.
Or I’d met you in mine. Without the mystery, without all of…
this.” I gesture faintly at the ledgers stacked on the counter.
“Just us where we could’ve had a normal beginning and a chance to see what we might’ve been if we weren’t fighting time itself. ”
Oliver goes still, his fork clinking softly against his plate. His eyes search mine, so open and unguarded that it makes me want to look away and never look away all at once.
“You’d have liked me then?” he asks, his voice rougher than before.
I laugh softly, nerves fluttering in my chest. “I like you now.”
His hand tightens around his fork, knuckles paling, but then he sets it down softly. “Beck…”
I hold my breath, half terrified, half desperate, as his gaze flicks from my eyes to my mouth. For a moment, I think he’ll lean across the table, and I don’t think I have it in me to stop him.
The timer on the oven dings, sharp and loud in the quiet, and I jump. Oliver blinks, breath leaving him in a slow rush as he leans back with a wry smile.
“Saved by the bell,” he mutters.
“Or cursed by it,” I mumble.
He chuckles, standing to pull something from the oven. The air between us still hums, and I cling to that feeling. The moment isn’t gone; it’s only waiting.
Oliver sets a bread basket between us, but he doesn’t sit right away.
His hand brushes over the back of his chair, his expression thoughtful.
“You know,” he says slowly, “for once, I’d like to do this properly.
I’d like us to have a real evening with dinner and dancing, the works.
” His eyes flick up to mine, cautious, like he’s afraid I’ll laugh at him.
My lips part, but no sound comes out. “Oliver—”
He cuts in gently. “I may not belong to this century, Beck, but I’m not without resources. And before you argue, I should tell you…I’ve already taken care of it.”
I blink. “Taken care of what exactly?”
His smile curves. “Tomorrow. You’ll have a dress fit for a gala, shoes too, and I’ll handle the transportation.”
“Oliver, you can’t just—”
“I can.” His tone is firm but warm, the same way he looks at me, like he wants to ease my worries before they form.
“I told you I planned for a life outside of my father’s shadow.
That included setting things aside and investing them.
I wasn’t planning for the twenty-first century future, but this world rewards patience. ”
I gape. “Are you telling me that your investments have just been sitting there since you put them there? You…hacked the stock market unintentionally?”
He chuckles, nodding. “Compound interest, Dollface. It’s the closest thing to magic your time has.”
I can’t help it when a laugh bursts from my lips. “Wow. That is…convenient and very lucky.” I look back into Oliver’s mismatched gaze as I reach for my glass. “Well, if you’ve gone through all the trouble, I suppose I can’t turn down a fairytale evening.”
His grin widens, bright and boyish. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
Later, when the dishes are stacked precariously in the sink, Oliver insists on a “proper nightcap,” whatever that means.
I watch from the couch as he rattles around my kitchen, squinting at packets of cocoa mix like they’re written in a foreign language. “Beck,” he calls, “why are there marshmallows in this cocoa? Is it dessert or soup?”
“Don’t ask questions, just put it in the mug,” I shout back, grinning.
A few minutes later, he appears with two steaming mugs, proud as can be. He hands me one and plops down beside me on the couch, his knee brushing mine as he leans forward to adjust.
I take a sip and nearly choke. My mug is filled with more marshmallows than cocoa.
Oliver covers his mouth with his hands, hiding a laugh.
“Went a bit heavy-handed with the marshmallows, did you?”
“They told me to add to taste. I tasted. I liked.” He smirks.
“You’re impossible,” I say, watching the marshmallow swamp that’s floating in my cup.
“And yet,” he says, leaning back with a smug smile, "it made you smile again, so that’s a win for me.”
He’s right. I can feel the ache in my cheeks and the warmth in my chest. I can’t remember the last time that I felt this light.
School has been incredibly isolating, with loneliness and stress pressing down on me for so long.
But with Oliver here, it’s like a window opened to let in the fresh air.
I’m having fun, and the feelings I’m having for Oliver are becoming a little too real. But I’ll worry about that later.
Oliver shifts closer, draping one arm along the back of the couch. His fingers toy lazily with a loose strand of my hair. It’s so casual that I almost miss the way his gaze darkens.
“You’re dangerous, Beck,” he murmurs.
“Me? How?”
His fingers twist in my hair again as he looks at me. “You make me forget. It’s so easy to forget everything but right now with you.”
The words steal my breath, and when his hand lingers over mine, I open my palm to him. As his fingers lace through mine, I can’t help but be in awe of him.
For a moment we just sit there, our hands interlocked and the air humming between us. His eyes catch mine, steady and unflinching, like he’s daring me to look away.
I hold his gaze, and when the space between us feels too small to ignore, Oliver clears his throat. “We need to be sharp tomorrow,” he says. “Bishop Manor isn’t exactly a playground.”
“It's a good thing I thrive under pressure then.”
He nods, bringing my hand to his lips. “I’m starting to believe you do.”