Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Devin
Stopping at the mirror by my front door, I check my reflection yet again, dabbing at the corners of my lipstick and smoothing a few unruly hairs.
The deep plum shade makes my lips look fuller, and I’ve managed to tame my hair into soft waves that frame my face.
My stomach flutters with anticipation. The week has been full of work, made even longer by the fact that Oliver and I have only seen each other at the rink.
There’s not a lot of opportunity to talk there, other than a few minutes here and there—stolen moments between drills when I catch him watching me from across the ice, or quick exchanges in the parking lot that leave me wanting more.
Which makes tonight even more special. He’s invited me over to have dinner with him, Niall, and Sophie, and apparently hell has frozen over because he’s cooking. The text he sent made me laugh out loud: “Fair warning - I’m attempting Filipino food. Niall has the fire department on standby.”
I don’t even care if it’s burnt to a crisp, like everything Oliver made when we lived together. Seeing him is the main course, everything else is just pretty garnish.
Closing the door, I set off at a brisk pace, my boots clicking against the salted sidewalk.
The cold air nips at my cheeks, but I welcome it—anything to cool the warmth spreading through me at the thought of seeing Oliver.
Niall’s house is close enough that I can walk there in ten minutes, and I could use the fresh air after being inside all day.
The winter sunset paints the sky in shades of pink and orange, and I find myself walking faster, eager to close the distance between us.
I’ve just made it to the end of the block when my phone beeps with a text from Jemma, asking me if she should make dinner reservations for all the nights of our ski trip. My thumb hovers over the screen, guilt pricking at me. She still doesn’t know about Oliver and me.
I start to answer, then decide to leave it to later. We’ve spent hours this week finalizing a dozen different details of the trip, and I need a break. And a drink.
That last thing, I won’t be getting. I’m still being careful, doing everything I can to keep my symptoms in check. The POTS has been manageable lately, but alcohol is one of those triggers I’ve learned to avoid completely.
So when Sophie answers her front door with a glass of red wine in hand, looking effortlessly elegant in a cozy sweater dress, I have to politely decline. “I’m still dry,” I answer, handing my coat over to her.
She frowns, setting her wine on the entry table. “I should have remembered that. Sorry!”
“It’s okay.” I rub my hands together. Despite the cold weather, they’re sweaty.
I spent the second part of the walk trying to talk myself into a calm state, but I still feel like I’m showing up to a middle school dance, knowing my crush will be here and I’ll interact with him in front of other people, and wondering just what everyone will think.
The smell of cooking onions and garlic fills the house, mixed with ginger and the rich scent of soy sauce and vinegar.
Sophie leads me into the kitchen, where jazz music plays softly in the background.
Oliver stands at the stove, dishtowel over his shoulder and apron on—a navy one that says “Kiss the Cook” in faded letters.
His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms as he stirs something on the stove. I can’t help it. I laugh out loud.
He turns around to face me, spatula in hand, grin lopsided and eyes crinkling at the corners. “What?”
“I just...” I wave at him, taking in the whole domestic scene. “Never thought I would see this.”
“I made you that banana bread, didn’t I? And the donuts.” His voice carries that playful defensiveness I’ve come to love.
I bite into my smile, remembering the morning he showed up at my practice with warm donuts. “And they were good.”
All of my anxiety vanishes. I don’t care that Sophie is in the same room, leaning against the counter with a knowing smile. That she and Niall might know everything that’s happened between me and Oliver. I’m just glad to be here, in this warm kitchen that smells like home and possibility.
“You like Chicken Adobo?” He asks, lifting the lid on a pot to give it stir. Steam rises, carrying the tangy scent of vinegar and bay leaves.
“For sure.” My mouth waters. I haven’t had Filipino food in ages.
Sophie squeezes past me, her hand briefly touching my shoulder. “I’m going to go tell Niall you’re here.”
I nod after her, suddenly aware that we’re alone.
The kitchen feels smaller, more intimate.
I realize that tonight is the best possible scenario.
Oliver is right. We should take things slow, and if we’re in front of other people there’s no possibility of launching myself across the table and onto his face.
Maybe.
“How was your day?” He leaves the stove, wiping his hands on the dishtowel before tossing it onto the counter. The way he moves toward me is deliberate, purposeful.
“Good.” I take a small step forward too, drawn by invisible threads. We kissed goodbye the morning after he left my place, but I’m not sure what the new status quo is. It’s that awkward beginning of a relationship, the kind of situation I haven’t faced in years.
He must have already made up his mind, though, because he wastes no time closing the distance between us. His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, before pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is soft but sure, stealing my breath and all my racing thoughts along with it.
“Hi,” he breathes against my cheek, his forehead resting against mine.
“Hi,” I whisper back, feeling like my heels have sprouted wings and I’m hovering six inches above the ground.
The sound of approaching footsteps makes me take a step back, though Oliver’s hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. Niall and Sophie enter the kitchen, and if they noticed anything, they don’t show it.
“Devin!” Niall greets me with genuine warmth, pulling me into a quick hug. “Glad you could make it. You ready to witness Oliver’s culinary debut?”
“I heard that,” Oliver mutters, returning to the stove. “It’s not my debut. I’ve cooked before.”
“Burnt toast doesn’t count,” Niall shoots back, and Sophie swats his arm.
“Be nice. It smells amazing in here.”
“Thank you,” Oliver says pointedly to Sophie, then glances at me. “At least someone appreciates my efforts.”
“I appreciate them too,” I say, squeezing his hand. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
Niall grins between us, clearly noticing our joined hands. “Sophie, I think we need to open another bottle of wine. This is a celebration.”
“Oh, just sparking water for me, please.” I glance at Sophie, making sure she hears me then turn back to Niall. “What are we celebrating?”
“Oliver cooking edible food, apparently,” Sophie says with a laugh. “And... other things.” She gives Niall a meaningful look that makes me blush.
Dinner is ready a few minutes later. We all help to plate it up—the Chicken Adobo glossy and dark, served over fluffy white rice with a simple salad on the side.
We take seats in the dining room that looks out onto the backyard, where snow blankets everything in pristine white.
Sophie lights candles on the table, casting a warm glow over everything.
Everything flows. The conversation. The wine. Even my sparkling water, which Sophie was kind enough to add a splash of cranberry and a sprig of mint. Oliver updates us on Richie, who’s been diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, which is likely what caused his knee to dislocate.
“The good news is, now that we know what we’re dealing with, we can adjust his training,” Oliver explains, his passion for coaching evident. “He’s actually excited about it. Says it makes him feel less like something’s wrong with him and more like he just needs a different approach.”
“That’s wonderful,” I say, genuinely moved. “Having a diagnosis can be so validating.”
He fills me in on how well his physical therapy routine is going, demonstrating a wrist stretch I taught him. When his knee brushes against mine under the table, I nearly gasp at the electric shock of it. The touch lingers, deliberate now, his leg pressed against mine.
“So,” Niall says, a mischievous glint in his eye, “should Sophie and I be prepared for Devin to be around for breakfast tomorrow?”
I nearly choke on my water, and Oliver kicks him under the table. “Niall.”
“What? I’m just planning ahead. Need to know how many eggs to buy.”
“Ignore him,” Sophie tells me, though she’s hiding a smile. “He’s been impossible since he figured out you two were...” She waves her hand vaguely.
“Reuniting,” Niall supplies helpfully. “Rekindling. Reigniting the flames of—”
“Eating dinner,” Oliver interrupts firmly, but he’s fighting back a grin. “We’re eating dinner.”
“Thank you for teaching Oliver those exercises.” Sophie sets the key lime pie she and Oliver made on the table, smoothly changing the subject. It’s beautiful, with perfectly piped whipped cream rosettes. “It was awful seeing him in so much pain.”
“How do you know I’m in less pain?” Oliver playfully squints his eyes at her, but his hand finds mine under the table, squeezing gently.
“Please.” Niall laughs. “You’ve been barking less, for one.”
“That could be because of something else happening in my life.” Oliver’s words drip with suggestion, and I fight to hold back a smile, my cheeks warming.
“Seriously, though.” He sobers up, turning his attention fully to me. “I’ve felt much better. I can’t thank you enough.”