Nine
Elle
I’ve been thinking about Oliver Cole wearing scrubs way too much.
It’s been a few days since Anne’s stint in the ER, during which she was diagnosed with a sprained ankle and no concussion. She has to spend two weeks on crutches, which I’ve heard relentless complaints about every day at work since then.
Even though Ruby’s signing still ended up being a success regardless of Anne’s incident, the part of the evening I found most surprising was my new neighbor.
Gone was the impatient jerk I’ve been dealing with for the past few weeks.
In his place was a helpful, and dare I say charming, doctor who was downright neighborly, even doing me a favor by letting Anne skip the line.
Oliver was… nice. Pleasant. Cordial. All words I didn’t know could apply to him.
But beyond that, he was attractive. Horribly, massively attractive.
The scrubs, the white coat, the charm, the wink. Holy hell, the wink.
Lucy will not stop talking about him. Thankfully, when we returned to my apartment we did little else but collapse into bed, but in all of our calls since then, Lucy brings Oliver up any way she can. She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. Was I this annoying when she met Liam?
It’s been over a week since Oliver and I started our new arrangement with Thor.
Oliver drops him off before his shifts, which vary from day to night, but I’ve been able to modify my working-from-home schedule so that I can be home with Thor when Oliver has to leave.
And I don’t even hear his middle-of-the-night exercising anymore.
Two days after the ER incident, Oliver included a present for me in Thor’s bag when he dropped him off.
“What’s this?” I asked when he handed me a white box.
“It’s just something I picked up for you,” he said awkwardly. He shifted on his feet by my doorway, like he couldn’t wait to get out of there. “Thought it was kind of funny.”
The box had clear packaging on the top, so I could see what was sitting inside on a bed of white tissue paper. It was the fanciest pair of earplugs I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Why—” I started, looking up at him. We were standing so close together that I could see the moment the corner of his mouth turned up into a small smile.
“I’ve been trying not to bother you with my early morning treadmill sessions, but I thought maybe these would help as well.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared up at the ceiling. The tips of his ears were turning red, and it was almost endearing.
I forced a laugh after that, because I just didn’t know what to do with the tension of the moment. No guy had ever bought me a gift this nice before. “Thank you,” I said, a bit breathless.
Oliver smiled wider. I wondered if I’d ever seen him actually smile before. A smirk sure, tons of times, but a genuine, full smile? This was new.
He left quickly after that, and I was stuck standing in my kitchen, trying to decipher the actions of my confusing neighbor.
Pretty much every minute since I’d met him had been spent in some kind of bickering match.
But now, he’d revealed another side to himself.
A softer side that wore scrubs and bought thoughtful presents—a present that I promptly Googled and learned cost sixty dollars.
I don’t know how long I stood there, staring at a pair of custom earplugs, but after a while, I unpackaged them and put them on my nightstand, a smile on my face as I did so.
I hate to admit how much seeing Oliver and Thor has been brightening up my days lately.
I can tell the good that it’s doing for me.
For example, if this were a pre-Thor/Oliver morning, I would be staying in bed until at least 8:30, waiting until the last possible second before I would be late for work.
I’d probably spend the next hour and a half doom-scrolling through Instagram, admiring the photos of people that I don’t even know, wondering when the hell my life was going to start.
Instead, a wet nose tries to snuggle its way under my hand.
I roll over to find Thor with his head perfectly positioned on the other pillow, looking up at me. Oliver said not to let him sleep in my bed, because he doesn’t let Thor on his own furniture and he doesn’t want to confuse him. But I’ve elected to ignore that.
I consider bringing Thor back upstairs early, just to bother Oliver. It’s around seven, which means he’s probably just fallen asleep after getting home. I wonder if I have a fog horn around? Maybe I could get one from the store on the corner? I could claim that he wasn’t answering his phone…
Thor lets out a sweet little moan, and I decide that I am keeping this dog as long as humanly possible. Maybe I need to be late for work today. For my mental health.
I brush my teeth and throw on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt.
It’s the end of March now, and the bitter cold is starting to ease, meaning I can get away with a heavy fleece rather than a parka.
I put on Thor’s leash and take him up to the park.
While there are many issues with my apartment, its location is not one of them.
I’m only a few blocks from Central Park West, which means I have access to green space to touch some grass whenever I need it.
Thor is also thrilled about it, galloping in his too-big paws up the sidewalk, stopping to pee on every patch of mulch that he comes across.
I’m probably not supposed to let him do that.
I’ve just let Thor off the leash at the dog run when my phone buzzes.
Oliver
Got home a little while ago and couldn’t sleep. Want me to come grab Thor?
Elle
Us too. We’re at the dog park if you want to join us.
Oliver
Be there in a few.
I’m excited for Thor. Maybe Oliver will let him stay at the park later than I’m able to. Part of me wishes I could stay too. I wish I could have Thor for more than just a night. I shake my head at myself as I watch him chase a miniature doodle. He’s not actually your dog, Elle.
Just as I find a seat on a wooden bench that’s not covered in dogs, I see Oliver approaching the gate to the park.
I resist the urge to smile at the adorable scene of Thor jumping on his hind legs to get to Oliver as he opens the gate, clawing at the knees of his sweatpants with his tongue lolling out.
I’ve never seen Oliver in sweatpants before.
I wonder if they’re the same ones he wore to bed. I wonder if he sleeps with no shirt on…
Okay, time to stop the wondering.
He is wearing a zip-up vest over a black hoodless sweatshirt, and a beanie. I mean, maybe he doesn’t realize it’s a beanie, but it’s a beanie. I stifle a laugh as he approaches me, and he furrows his brows.
“What?” he prods.
“Nothing,” I say, pressing my lips into a line. He takes a seat surprisingly close to me. “It’s just that, you rolled out of bed to come here, and you were like, ‘This hat looks good. I’m going to wear this hat.’” I snort as I finish my sentence.
“It’s cold out. Hats are usually warranted in the cold,” he says, holding his hands out like he doesn’t understand the joke, which makes it even funnier.
“Sure, hats are warranted,” I reply with a nod. “But you have to pick the hat that matches your look. That hat reads skateboarding hipster. You need more of a black skull cap.”
“Yeah well, when I wear a black hat, people tend to think I’m going to rob them,” he says, completely serious.
“I see that,” I agree. “But that’s your look—scaring children, moonlighting as a bank robber. Embrace it.”
He grimaces at me. It’s like his natural facial expression. I don’t think he’ll respond well to me calling him Grimace to his face, so I may just troll him with pictures of the McDonald’s mascot later.
“And what’s your look?” He eyes me. I’m wearing a sweatshirt that says Read Banned Books, and leggings from my yoga studio. “Selling people books and reading their horoscopes?”
“Well, you’re half right, I suppose.”
He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it again. A moment passes before he tries again. “So the books you work on… They’re like the ones with the half-dressed men on the cover?”
I roll my eyes. Over the years, I’ve gotten over my rage at this response to people learning about my job.
People only know what they are exposed to.
If you’re not part of the romance community, then you don’t really see all the amazing parts of it.
Sure, half-naked men are amazing, but that’s not all romance is.
Even though the genre has evolved so much over the last few years, people still like to put unfair labels on it.
Romance doesn’t get the credit it deserves, and I’m afraid it never will.
I settle for a vague response, because it’s too early to get into a heated debate about the intricacies of my job with Oliver. “There’s more to it than that.”
He raises his eyebrows at my vague answer. “I shouldn’t have implied there wasn’t,” he says, apology in his eyes. He takes a beat before adding, “And that’s what you wanted to do? Like those are the books that you wanted to work with?”
“Since I learned that working with books was even a job,” I say confidently.
“Why?”
I chuckle at Thor who is mirroring a French Bulldog’s playing position. When I turn back to Oliver, a piece of a smile is still on my face. “Why romance?” I clarify. He nods.
“A lot of reasons. Because they’re my favorite type of books. Always have been. And because the world could use some more happily ever afters. Or at the very least, people who believe in them.”
He studies me for a moment, and I’d love to let the words “What are you thinking?” slip out of my mouth. But I hold my tongue. Because I’m not supposed to wonder what he’s thinking. I’m not supposed to wonder anything about him, except how best to annoy the crap out of him.
“And that’s what you believe in? Happily every afters?” he asks. I almost laugh at the words “happily ever after” coming out of Oliver’s mouth. It’s an odd thing to hear him say, especially while he is wearing that hat.
I consider if I should be truthful with him.
Saying you want an HEA like a Disney princess usually doesn’t do anything except scare guys away.
As women, we’re taught to play it cool in case the guy is afraid of commitment.
Then, maybe they will stay with us long enough for us to change their mind.
I try my best not to subscribe to this theory.
But that still doesn’t stop me from pausing when Oliver asks this question.
Do I want him to think I’m an all-or-nothing girl?
I mentally scoff at myself. I’m many things, but I’m not a hypocrite—or a coward.
I am very much myself, even if myself means being the hype girl and never the main character.
I don’t lie about who I am or what I want.
I think it goes back to those nights looking at the sky with my dog, feeling small and unimportant.
It reminds me that our world is too small, too fleeting, to be anything but honest.
“Yes,” I say firmly. “That’s my business: happily ever after. And I’d love to have one in my own life, too. Someday.”
Oliver nods. He doesn’t speak for a moment, so I take a chance. “What about you?”
“What about me?” he asks, clapping his hands to get Thor’s attention.
“What’s your take on happily ever afters?”
Oliver looks away from me, but surprisingly, he doesn’t laugh. “I don’t think that will be for me. Not anytime soon anyway.”
My chest deflates a little. I try to ignore it.
“Why’s that?” I ask in my best casual tone.
“I’m not the kind of guy girls like to settle down with,” he says, and I scrunch my brows.
When he sees the confusion on my face, he adds, “I—uh—I have really bad OCD, and it’s pretty much ended all of my relationships.
” He stretches an arm around his neck, rubbing it with his hand.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“Because I asked,” I reply plainly. Something twinges in my chest at his confession, at the fact that he felt he could trust me with it. “If those women couldn’t appreciate you for who you are, OCD and all, then they probably weren’t worth your time anyway,” I add, giving him a soft smile.
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he says, disbelief on his face.
“Don’t get used to it,” I reply, giving him a side-eye.
“Plus, I can’t imagine being in a relationship right now. Just moving here, my job—” He stops short and drags a hand down his face, an exasperated sigh escaping through his fingers.
“What’s wrong with your job?” I ask. “Other than the absurdly long hours, of course.”
“It’s… complicated, but it just feels like it was forced upon me.
Sure, I love medicine, but I don’t know if I love practicing it.
And I don’t have the best relationship with my dad because of it.
” He pauses, drumming his lips. I can tell he’s reluctant to talk about this, but he is anyway, and I appreciate that.
It seems hard for him, so I put on my best supportive face.
“Everything in my life is so chaotic right now that I can’t think ahead to the next few weeks, let alone consider a long-term relationship.
” He shakes his head as soon as the words leave his mouth.
He’s uncomfortable, and definitely looking for a way out of the conversation.
He bends down to pet Thor and won’t meet my eyes.
“Don’t you have to leave for work?” he asks, finding a way to change the subject.
I check the time on my phone, and yes, I do.
But I feel bad ending this conversation too early.
Part of being a hype girl is being a good listener.
It’s ingrained in me. But I also like to respect people’s boundaries, and I don’t want to push past Oliver’s when we’ve just had the most civil conversation in recent memory.
I hand Oliver the leash and we start the walk back to our building.
I can’t help but feel a sort of grief as we walk away from the park, like I lost something while I was there.
I know Oliver and I started out at odds, but since I started watching Thor, we’ve formed a weird partnership of sorts.
Maybe the beginning of a friendship? I thought, maybe hoped, that there could something else between us.
I don’t think I imagined the way we looked at each other some days, but maybe fleeting attraction was all it was.
Oliver has made it pretty clear that he doesn’t want anything serious.
And as Lucy once told me, when a man tells you he doesn’t want a relationship, he’s rarely lying.
So we continue to be at odds after all.