Chapter 51
It pained Aurelia to get out of bed to open the shop the next morning, and she doubled-up on coffee in an effort to both wake up and defeat her headache.
She waited until noon to call David to check in on his hangover, but James answered David’s phone to report that David was incapable of speech or movement until further notice.
Oliver was due at the shop that evening to walk through his latest edits, giving Aurelia a few more hours to recover before she’d need to get her brain fully functioning.
She’d gotten marginally better at taking his feedback.
They sometimes argued, and other times nodded together in agreement over a scene that needed to be moved, or a theme that had developed late in the novel and needed to be worked into earlier scenes.
With each passing day, Aurelia saw the novel coming together, getting better and stronger, and she thrilled at the feeling of pride.
They were closing in on the end now—early chapters polished and ready to go, and later chapters nearly finished but not yet finalized.
When Aurelia met Oliver at the door to let him in after closing, he was holding a takeaway bag filled with food while carrying Biscuit.
“Rolling bag,” he explained, nodding toward the street.
Aurelia still laughed every time she saw the dog—especially now, as Oliver put him down and he nearly tripped Oliver in his eagerness to be as close as possible to his favorite human.
Fezz was up on the window seat, pretending to be asleep and unbothered by the new arrivals.
He’d seen Biscuit a few times now, and he treated him just like Mrs. Smith’s dog—with cautious indifference.
An hour after Oliver had arrived, they were sitting at her desk with takeaway boxes strewn over her notes and his edits, and Biscuit asleep at their feet. Oliver was pointing to the pages of a scene he claimed wasn’t working.
“He’d never say that,” Oliver insisted.
“He would and look—there he is,” she said smugly, pointing to the page in front of them, “saying just that.”
“That’s not Tolstoy’s Vronsky.”
“No, you’re right. He’s changed a lot since Anna died.”
Oliver shook his head and opened his mouth to argue.
“You can disagree with me,” she continued, “but it’s staying put because I know I’m right.”
“How? How do you know?” he challenged her with a grin.
She answered with one of her own as she said, “Because he told me so himself.”
Oliver rolled his eyes, all too familiar now with her insistence that her characters spoke to her, never guessing that her fib about her ‘process’ was closer to the truth than she’d let anyone else get.
Aurelia enjoyed those moments of being honest with him, even enjoyed how much it annoyed him. It was their own private ‘joke.’
“Right,” he sighed, a hint of surrender in his voice.
“Exactly. In it stays.”
She turned the page before he could press the point.
He slid the manuscript away from her and began flipping through to his next edit.
As she watched his fingers moving over her words, searching out his next attack, the mantel clock behind them began striking the hour.
Aurelia turned idly to the clock, saw the time, then turned back to Oliver as he set the pages down.
She was about to argue on principle before even hearing what he was going to suggest, when she jerked her head back to the clock again.
Could it really be ten o’clock? They might have another hour of work ahead of them, and she’d missed her chance for a nap.
“You okay?” Oliver asked.
“Yes—yeah.”
“Do you want a break? We could walk around the square, stretch our legs,” he suggested, nodding to the door.
“No, I’m alright. Unless you need a break?”
“I’m fine. Here—this line here,” he said, diving right back into his notes.
She tried to focus on his words, but her brain kept dragging her back to thoughts of the characters, of wanting to show Vronsky what they’d been working on.
Though, at the same time, she was enjoying her time with Oliver and had to admit she didn’t mind being secreted away with him in the shop.
Just the two of them… Side by side… Talking so passionately about the words she’d written…
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Um, I think that’s probably fine,” she answered dreamily, her voice far away.
“Seriously? I thought you were going to fight me tooth and nail on that.”
She stared down at the paper, willing herself to focus.
“Wait, no… No! That doesn’t work at all,” she said shaking her head emphatically.
“That’s what I thought you’d say. You know, this would be much easier if you’d just zone out and let me have at the book on my own.”
She shot him a death glare and he laughed before starting to talk through his next edit.
Again, she lost the thread of it as she wondered how he could stay out so late.
Surely he wasn’t dating anyone new? Wouldn’t a girlfriend mind him being away for so many hours a day?
Of course, he was only here working—they were just editing her book together.
That was his job, after all. They’d become friends too, after all these months, but that was it.
Thanks to her tears—maybe even thanks to her stubbornness with his edits.
Then there were her midnight visits with fictional characters that, if he ever guessed they were more than a shared joke, would surely send him running.
“I’m losing you. Let’s call it a night,” Oliver said, patting her on the shoulder as he stood and gathered his things.
“What? Why?”
She’d been caught up in her thoughts again and had no idea what had happened.
“You’re drifting off. I know it’s late.”
“No, it’s fine! I’m used to late nights. Really,” she said as she got to her feet.
“We can pick it up again another time.”
He started walking to the door, Biscuit at his heels, and Aurelia turned to check the clock again. If they kept working, she might not get to see the characters, but, for once, spending a few more minutes editing with him seemed worth the risk of missing them.
“I’m sorry, let’s keep at it,” she said, following him to the door. “I know it’s late, but I appreciate you coming over, staying to help me tie things up. We’ve made such good headway tonight. You’re very dedicated.”
He turned to her as he pulled open the door and suddenly they were standing extremely close to one another.
“I am,” he agreed softly. “Very dedicated.”
Aurelia’s eyes widened. Was that… Was he…? Her mind flashed to a memory of them standing in that same spot just months ago, when he’d told her they could be friends—just friends.
“Well, thank you,” she said quickly, annoyed at herself for having misread the moment. “See you later, then?”
“Right. Goodnight.”
Leaving Aurelia behind at the shop door, Oliver stepped out into the night and turned to wave as he and Biscuit crossed the square.