There were at least ten people elegantly draped across a moon-shaped couch. They all acted put out when Jasper and I squeezed in two couples down from Oliver and Jasmine. We were jammed so closely together I could smell Jasper’s cologne.
“Feel a little bit better?” he asked me.
“I really do.” I giggled. “I’m not a big fan of clubs,” I admitted.
“Note to self,” he said, tapping his temple. “So what do you like?”
“I like going out but usually places that don’t charge ten pounds for one drink. I like more intimate places, pubs-off-the-beaten-path kind of thing.”
He nodded.
“What are you both on about then?” Oliver asked, leaning forward.
Everyone turned to look at us. “Oh, I was just trying to glean ideas from Penelope on what she’d like to do for her birthday,” Jasper explained.
Oliver smiled. “That’s right. You’re twenty-three this Friday.” Oliver sat back casually, throwing his arms over the back of the sofa. “You know, I could throw you a party, if you like? Bring you ’round the house again?”
The offer knocked the wind out of me. “Oh, I couldn’t impose,” I sputtered.
As I said this, Jasmine scooted forward, her hand landing on Oliver’s knee, and nervously giggled. “Oliver, she won’t want that!”
Oliver ignored them and spoke only to me. “No, no. I insist.”
Jasper worked most of the days leading up to my birthday. We enjoyed a text friendship and one dinner together. We laughed a lot. Turns out, the chemistry just wasn’t really there for either of us, but we agreed we would be great friends and promised to stay that way.
I’d explained to him in great detail at the dinner the predicament between Oliver and me.
“He made this sort of,” I said, gesturing wildly with my hands, “declaration to me.”
Jasper leaned forward, a look of wonder on his face. “Wow,” he whispered. “What did you say?”
“I’d just gotten my heart stomped on by Graham. I wasn’t in a place to hear him, if you know what I mean? B-but if it had been any other time, any other day, I think the message would have come across loud and clear and with real meaning.”
“Wow,” Jasper said again.
“And he wasn’t into monogamy. I mean really wasn’t into it.”
He looked confused. “But he has that girlfriend. The blonde. What’s her name?”
“Jasmine. And I know! What the hell? Last time I was around him, it was a different girl every week,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Now he’s Mr. Boyfriend?”
Jasper sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I have him pegged. He’s trying on a relationship, seeing how it feels, seeing if he likes it.”
I was appalled. “Surely not. That’s a despicable thing to do to someone. I don’t think Oliver would do that.”
“I didn’t say he didn’t dig Jasmine. I’m just saying he’s testing relationship waters.”
I can’t believe I’m admitting to this, but I thought I liked it better when I thought he was using Jasmine. “Oh.”
Our food arrived and we dug in.
“Are you going to come to my birthday party?” I asked him.
He took a bite. “Yeah, man, of course.”
“Cool beans.”
“Yeah, peachy keen,” he teased.
“Shut up.”
“No, you shut up.”
“No, you shut up.”
Jasper and I looked at one another for a brief moment before bursting into laughter.
We didn’t stay long after that. He kissed my cheek on our way out and told me he’d see me the next day at the party. Oliver had sent evites to everyone, including myself, but failed to send one to Jasper. To be fair, Oliver hadn’t known Jasper’s email, but he could have asked.
As I walked toward the tube, my phone rang. Oliver. Holy cannoli.
I shifted the button to answer. “Hello?”
“Hello, Pen, it’s Oli.”
“Hey, man. What’s up?”
“Uh, I was just at the store to get a few things for tomorrow night and I thought you might want to have a say and all that since it’s your big day and all.”
I felt my face flush. “Um, well, okay,” I replied.
“Are you busy?” he asked.
“Well, um, no, not now,” I answered.
“Not on some hot date with Jasper tonight then?” he teased.
“I just left dinner with him, actually,” I bit back. Don’t fish if you don’t want what you catch, sucker.
“Oh, right then.” He cleared his throat. “I’m at that party store on Acton. Do you mind meeting up?”
“Not at all,” I lied. “I’m only about ten minutes away. I-is Jasmine with you?”
“No.” He paused. “I, well, we’re no longer seeing one another.”
I sucked in a breath and hoped he didn’t hear it. “Oh goodness, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s … we decided to go our separate ways.”
I took a deep breath. “I hope it was nothing I did.”
“No!” he insisted. “She had a desire to see other people. We’d only just tried to be exclusive and last night she admitted she’d already agreed to go out with another guy.”
I winced. “Jeez, Oli, that sucks.”
He sighed deeply. “It’s fine, Pen.” Another pause. “See you in ten?” he asked.
“See you,” I said and hung up.
My heart was in my throat as I laid my card on the Oyster pod on the turnstile and caught the train toward Acton. I found the store fairly easily but didn’t go directly in. I was too keyed up, too afraid of what could be said or wouldn’t be said. I was no longer protected by the buffer that was Jasmine. A girl who’d just, for lack of a better word, dumped him.
I opened the door and a little bell overhead chimed, announcing my presence.
“How’s it!” the lady at the counter cooed.
“Evening,” I greeted, my pulse speeding up at the prospect of seeing Oliver soon. I turned my head side to side looking for him.
“If you’re looking for that tall chap,” she said, pointing to the back corner of the store. “He’s just back there with my assistant.”
“Thank you,” I told her, hiking my Zoe farther up my arm.
I rounded an aisle only to come across a rotund woman in her fifties leaning into Oliver a little too closely and purring something into his ear. When his desperate eyes met mine, I fought a smile.
“Darling!” he shouted a little too loudly, prying the woman off his arm. “There you are!”
He sidled up to me. “Just go with it,” he whispered, embracing me, sending shivers down my spine.
His wide eyes met mine so I nodded.
“Lover!” I laid on thickly. Throwing my arms around his neck, I threaded my fingers through his hair. “I’ve missed you so! Don’t ever leave my side again. Promise me,” I pleaded, clutching my body to his. Oliver snorted and shook his head. I pulled away, grasping his shoulders, fixing a manic expression on my face. “If I have to go even a minute more without your hand in mine, I’ll die. Die!”
“You’re overselling it,” he gritted out between his teeth.
Me? I mouthed.
He bit back a smile as the lady passed us grumbling, “Call if you need anything.”
I let go of him and doubled over in a silent laugh.
He kept shaking his head. “You are incorrigible, Penelope Beckett.”
“At your service,” I said, standing upright and saluting him.
He glanced at me, making my insides flip-flop. He turned his gaze from mine and studied the ceiling.
“In all seriousness, though,” I said, stealing back his attention, “are you okay?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, a confused expression on his face.
“Because of your breakup?”
“Oh yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I’m still sorry,” I told him
.
“It’s okay, Pen, really,” he said, refusing to look at my face. He grabbed my hand, pouring butterflies into my belly, and led me to an aisle full of themed decorations.
“So many to choose from,” he said, dropping my hand and extending his arms.
He picked up a large straw sombrero and placed it on my head.
“Muy caliente,” he teased, then took it off and put it back on its shelf. “Do you have any more shows tomorrow?” he asked.
“None,” I told him, picking up maracas and giving them a good shake.
“I have a show mid-morning tomorrow. Alice & Emma? Heard of them?”
“Of course,” I said, perusing the party decorations.
Oliver lifted a pack of party plates that read Hip Cat across them. He studied them closely. “I, uh,” he said then cleared his throat, “I have an extra ticket if you’d like to go with me.”
He laid down the pack of plates and tucked a hand into the front pocket of his jeans as he looked at me, waiting for my answer. It gave me butterflies.
My heart raced and I swallowed hard. “Yeah, I think that would be cool. What time?”
“Ten a.m. Should I pick you up?”
“That’s fine. Might be easier to take a cab, though? I think it’s a pretty popular show, be a nightmare to find parking.”
His shoulders slumped a little. He looked deflated. “Right, yeah, of course.”
“How about we meet up for breakfast beforehand then we can hitch it together to the show?”
He perked up, which gave me such a rush to see him physically react to me like that. “That’d be great.” He smiled. “Where should we go?”
“Your choice,” I said, looking toward the shelves again. If I’d looked at him anymore, I felt like my heart would explode. I fingered a few plastic crowns.
“Okay, how about Regency?” he asked.
I bit my lip and begged my heart to slow down. Regency was the little café where Graham and all his mates, including Oliver, would meet on Saturday mornings after Friday-night bashes. It brought forth bittersweet memories for me.
“Yeah, of course. Love that place,” I told him. It was a half-truth.
“Right, then that’s settled. Come now, love, help me grab a few things for tomorrow.”
We grabbed a bunch of luau stuff and went to the counter.
As the woman who greeted me when I entered the store rang up everything, Oli leaned on the counter, facing me.
“I like the bag on you, Pen.”
“Do you?” I asked.
“It suits you.”
“Thank you.”
He studied me for a moment. “What are you doing for the rest of the evening?” he asked.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’d like to talk to you.”
My heart jumped into my throat. “What about?”
He didn’t answer my question. Instead he said, “I’m happy you’re in London.” He stood and brought himself inches from my face. “Penelope?” he asked.
“Yes?” I whispered.
“Are you dating that American bloke?”
“J-Jasper?” I stuttered when I took in Oliver’s face. His hair had fallen forward slightly and hung over his right eye.
“Yes, that one,” he replied, dismissing Jasper with the statement, letting me know what he really thought of him.
My throat went dry. “No, um, we decided we’d be better off friends.”
A slow smile spread across his mouth, making him look a little dangerous. “That’s too bad,” he told me, his tone implying just the opposite and making my blood run hot in my veins.
The cashier must have spoken, but I didn’t hear her, too engrossed in Oliver’s expression and his warming proximity. Without breaking his stare, Oliver produced a card and handed it over. Only after the woman ran the card and handed it back did he break his gaze, leaving me dazed and confused where I stood.
He grabbed the bags as well as my hand, leading me toward the store exit.
“I could cook an egg on this counter now with the heat comin’ off you two,” the cashier teased then laughed.
We stopped on the sidewalk outside the store. He peered down at me and without skipping a beat, asked, “How do you like your eggs, Penelope Beckett?”
My mouth gaped open. “I—” I began, but he interrupted.
“Never mind that,” he stated, reaching into his pocket and studying the building across the street. “I believe I remember now. Eggs Benedict.”
“That’s right,” I told him, feeling a little starstruck.
“Isn’t that ironic?” he said, pulling a tin from his pocket.
“How so?”
He offered me a wintergreen mint and I took it before he took one for himself then pocketed the tin once more. He placed the mint on his tongue and I was utterly distracted by his mouth.
“Benedict Arnold was an American traitor?”
My tongue tingled, felt heavy. “Yes,” I confirmed.
He leaned in close and I had to crane my neck to see into his eyes. “Enticed by the lure of a Brit, was he not?”
He winded me, stole the breaths right out of me. I panted and nodded, unable to answer.
He gamely smiled at the passing cars. “Interesting.” I stood next to him, astounded. “Come, Pen,” he said, taking my hand again and leading me down the street. “Let’s have a bit of fun. What say you?”
“Uh-huh,” I dumbly replied.
We walked a block to his car and he threw his bags into the backseat, never letting go of my hand, then opened the passenger door for me. I climbed in and he closed the door before scaling the front of the car, settling into the driver’s side. My eyes never left him. He was like a different species of animal, too silver-tongued, too facile to be human.
“Since you’ve had dinner, how about a drink?” he asked.
“A drink would be fine,” I managed to spit out despite the fact he’d rendered me dumbstruck.
“I know just the place,” he promised, starting the car and jetting out into the street.
We whipped throughout his London neighborhood and landed at a rather cozy-looking pub called The Red Undertaker. Oliver parked and opened my door for me, taking my hand yet again, and locking the car. He opened the bright red door to the pub for me and it was as I suspected, incredibly intimate. A long, galley-like configuration. The long bar ran half the length of the room with long tables and benches lining the opposite side with barely enough room to walk down the center walkway. Just at the center of the room, opposite the bar, and breaking up the line of tables, was a marble fireplace with a small fire and small love seat facing that. Intimate, was all I could think. And it was vacant.
Oliver led me to the seat, took my jacket from me, and laid it across one arm along with his. “I’ll just check these,” he said, escaping toward the back coat check.
I watched him retreat and my heart beat into my throat. “Oh my God,” I whispered to no one.
My hands shook at my sides as I stared at the fire.
“Buy you a drink, love?” a kept-looking young guy asked.
I turned my body better toward him. “That’s kind, thank you, but I’m with someone,” I told him.
Oh my God, am I here with Oliver? Is this really happening?
“No problem,” he said with a wave and walked away.
“Checked,” a voice to my left told me.
I cut my head toward Oliver then turned the rest of my body. He nestled himself beside me comfortably, confidently, and unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. He studied me as he did this and I felt my skin burn to impossible temperatures. He began to roll one sleeve up a defined forearm and my eyes swung to the movement.
I leaned forward. “Let me,” I told him, taking the sleeve in my hands.
With each revolution, my shaking fingers grazed his broiling skin and my stomach plummeted to my feet. He watched me with hooded eyes, his mouth slightly parted. When I reached just under his elbow, my hands ling
ered a moment before falling away. Without a word, he offered the other arm. Biting my bottom lip, I reached out and rolled the other sleeve, taking my time with it, knowing he had no more sleeves to roll, no more skin to know. I looked into his smoldering expression. I was at an impasse. If I continued to touch him anymore, there’d be no such pretense. And he knew it.
A waitress brought two tumblers of an amber-colored liquid and offered them to us. I took one and Oliver took the other. She walked away toward the bar again.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Guess.”
“Glenlivet,” I told him without even taking a sip.
“You would be correct.”
I took a deep, shaky breath, remembering the night we’d shared Glenlivet. This night had a completely different tone to it, and I thought he wanted me to know that. I thought he was rebadging that whisky between us. It worked.
I studied my fingers for a moment before meeting his gaze. He sat there with me, looking assured, his right arm draped across the back of the seat. His hand gripped the back edge of our sofa, his knuckles white with the effort. Those bloodless fingers told me of the war brewing within his cool exterior, and that knowledge did things to my insides.
He brought the glass to his lips and downed the liquid in its entirety, letting the empty glass rest on his left knee, his long fingers braced around the tumbler.
“Talk,” he ordered after I took a nervous swig.
“What do you want me to say?”
“If you’ve been in London all this time,” his deep voice crooned, “why not come see me?”
I swallowed hard and stared into the fire. “I don’t know.”
He barked a short laugh. “Yes, you do.”
I took another sip and let the liquid warm me up from the inside. I set the tumbler on the small section of seat between us, keeping my fingers around its rim, and leaned forward. “I’m afraid of you, Oliver Finn.”
Oliver stopped breathing. I saw it. His chest settled still and he sat upright, leaning toward me, his face inches from mine.
“I won’t argue with that,” he revealed.
“Why?” I asked.
Penny in London Page 14