Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
FREYA
“Oh God,” I hiss down the phone. “I can see his truck.”
“Freya.”
“He’s opening the door.”
“Frey.”
“He’s getting out.”
“Babe.”
“He’s walking this way.”
“Freya!” Luci snaps. “Take a deep breath.”
I obey, squeezing my eyes shut as I try and break myself out of the spiral that I’m rapidly falling into.
“Let it out.” Even though my eyes are shut, I can picture her smile through the screen of my phone, currently propped on the desk.
I brace my elbows on the surface and drop my head into my hands, being careful not to smudge the lipstick I just applied.
That’s why I called Luci in the first place.
It’s a different shade of red than I usually go for and I needed to check and see if it clashed with my hair.
One thing led to another and soon I was close to tears, spilling every reason why I thought that this was going to go terribly.
Luci just listened, patient as ever, her words soothing as she tried to reassure me that this would be nothing like things with Aaron, that I had to start trusting myself again not to make another bad choice.
At the sound of the bell over the door, I shoot up, smoothing my hair down and trying to look at least eighty percent less flustered. From Oscar’s concerned frown, I don’t know how well I’m doing.
“Hi,” he says softly, his eyes bouncing all over my face. He steps forward, producing a small bunch of wildflowers from behind his back. “I brought you these.”
I stand, wanting to be on his level. “Oh, wow.” I try not to let my hand shake as I reach out to take them. “They’re so pretty, you didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.” As I take the flowers, his hand catches mine, giving it a small squeeze. “You deserve beautiful things.”
“Thank you.” The words come out as nothing more than a breath. “I’m just gonna go put them in water.” I head to the bathroom where I fill up the sink, thankful for the moment alone.
This is fine, this is good. I repeat the words to myself over and over, hoping to calm my racing heart.
I feel like my nervous system is in overdrive, like every brush of air against my skin is too much.
I have to calm down. I tap my fingers against my thigh in the familiar rhythm.
One, two, three, four, thumb. Thumb, four, three, two, one.
I can do this, I can be brave. I want this. I want to prove to myself that Aaron doesn’t control me anymore. If I can do something as small as going out to lunch with a sweet guy who treats me well, then maybe I can start to prove that I’m my own person.
Every click of my soles sounds like a coin dropping against the wood floors as I slowly walk back out.
As I round the corner, I make out the faint sound of voices.
Oh shit, I forgot to flip the sign before Oscar arrived.
Is that a customer? I hurry out, but it’s only Oscar there, behind the desk in the seat I was just occupying.
He grins down at something and I realize with a sinking sensation that I didn’t hang up the call. Luci’s laugh bubbles out the speaker, though I can’t make out the exact words.
I can’t imagine what kind of shit she’s saying to him.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Oscar says good-naturedly.
“Luci,” I hiss, scooping up the device and glaring at her. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” She preens like the cat who just got the cream. “Just saying hi.”
“Yeah, I bet you were.” I eye Oscar suspiciously, but he just smirks. “Bye,” I grumble.
“Make good choices!” She squeals as I hang up. When she’s gone, I’m left with only silence, and the force of Oscar’s gaze.
I grimace. “I’m so sorry about her.”
“Don’t be, I’m glad you have such good friends.”
I sigh. “She threatened you, didn’t she?”
“I have been told in no uncertain terms that I’ve got to be on my best behavior.”
Jesus Christ.
I meet his eyes and he quirks a brow. “Are you ready?”
After a long inhale, I answer. “I guess so.”
He stands and as he reaches my side he places a hand on the small of my back, guiding me towards the door. The touch is so casual but it sends a jolt of electricity up my spine and I almost shiver. “Don’t sound too excited,” he teases.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I am excited, really.”
Oscar pauses just before he pushes open the door. “I know.” The smile he gives me is so warm and so gentle it makes my chest clench. “And I know you’re nervous, but I promise there’s nothing to stress about. We’re just getting lunch, there’s no pressure.”
My gaze bounces between his eyes, assessing the truth of what he’s saying. He doesn’t react, doesn’t flinch or hide. He shows me everything he’s feeling and lets me take my time until I’m sure.
There’s always a part of me that’ll be afraid of getting into something new after what I’ve had to face, but maybe I just need to be okay with that.
I can be scared, but I can’t let it stop me from trying.
Maybe this thing with Oscar won’t go anywhere, maybe we’ll get lunch, and then go back to being acquaintances.
But I won’t know that unless I give it a shot.
I owe it to myself to at least give this a chance, even if it’s a little terrifying.
“Let’s go,” I say, allowing myself to lean into his side a little more.
Oscar grins and pushes the door open, pausing to flip the sign.
“I swear if Joyce comes by and I miss her...”
“I’ll keep a lookout.” He chuckles. “If a swarm of crafters appears, I’ll give you the nudge. Otherwise, let’s just have fun, deal?”
“Deal.”
“Fantastic.”
He seems so different to the way I first thought of him. He’s so open, so easy with his smiles and his affection. It’s almost strange in how natural it feels, like this is who he’s supposed to be and it’s the stern, stoic version of him that’s the act.
Outside it’s warm, one of the warmest days I’ve had since coming back, only cut through by a soft breeze that moves the flowers starting to sprout up in the planters lining the sidewalk. I probably don’t appreciate it enough, how beautiful this town is. It’s like something out of a picture book.
As soon as we’re through the door, Becca smiles up at us and nods her head at a table tucked into a small alcove.
Every time I’ve been in here it’s been full, usually with kids studying or people working.
Today the wood surface is covered with a sage green tablecloth and there’s a candle placed in the center.
A slate sign declares it as “reserved – 1 p.m. to close.”
“Fucking hell,” Oscar huffs, but there’s humor lacing his tone.
I knock his elbow with mine. “You really went all out.”
“No.” He reaches up to scratch at the notch between his brows. “This had nothing to do with me.”
I turn to see Becca looking very much like somebody trying to seem busy. Too bad there’s not actually a customer in front of her. She glances over, attempting to be discreet, but when she catches me staring she just gives a sheepish shrug.
“Not that I didn’t want to make an effort,” Oscar rushes to add. “I just wanted to keep things relaxed.”
“I know.” And I do. He’s never given me a reason not to.
“Here, have a seat.” He pulls out the chair by the wall, where I’ll be out of sight from the rest of the diners.
As soon as I’m sat, it’s easier to settle my nerves, at least there aren't any eyes on me anymore. Though I’m sure everyone will have heard about this by mid-afternoon, especially with Becca keeping people away from her best table.
“You want your usual or do you feel like mixing it up?” Oscar asks.
“The same, please.”
“Perfect. I’ll be right back.” But before he can head up to the counter, Becca appears, notebook in hand.
“What’ll it be?” she asks.
Oscar frowns at her, not breaking their stare down even as she nudges him toward his seat. “This place doesn’t have table service.” He sits, still watching her warily.
Becca shrugs. “We do today.”
He rolls his eyes and rattles off our order. I’m a little impressed at how he remembered mine, even getting no olives in my sandwich.
“Great, that’s twenty-one seventy.” Becca smiles, producing a reader. I go to grab my purse but Oscar’s already tapping his card. “Your food will be right with you,” she says before heading back to the counter.
I start to tell him he doesn’t have to do that, but his scowl stops me short.
“We’re gonna need some kind of swear jar or something.” He places his palms against the table, tone serious. “Any time you say, ‘you don’t have to,’ whenever I’m trying to be sweet to you, you gotta put a dollar in or something.”
“What?”
“I’m serious! You have got to stop thinking that I’m here out of some kind of responsibility, or like it’s a chore to be around you. You’re not just something I’m checking off a list, Freya.”
“I know that,” I mumble.
“No, you don’t.” He shrugs off his jacket and I realize I still have my coat on. When I stand to take it off, he moves with me, waiting until I’ve got it unbuttoned before he slides it off my shoulders. “We’ll get there, though.”
“So, the sweater dooms the relationship?” Oscar tips his head to the side as he finishes the last bite of his tuna melt. “Must be a shitty sweater.”
I laugh, exasperated. “It’s not about the quality of the sweater.”
“But the sweater gets ruined?”
“No!” I can’t stop the giggles that burst out of me.
I’ve been trying to explain The Sweater Curse for longer than I care to admit, but I don’t know if knitting superstitions have really made it into Oscar’s circle of references before.
“It’s not about the sweater itself, nothing happens to the sweater. ”
“But if nothing happens to it, then why are people breaking up?”
“I don’t know! It’s just a dumb thing people say.”
“That if you knit your partner a sweater, you’re gonna break up?”