by Cassie Cross
We walk out into my room…and stare at the bed.
“Do you have a side?” Oliver asks.
“Left. You?”
“Right.”
I give him a skeptical side-eye. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”
He puts his hand over his heart. “It’s one-hundred percent true. I wouldn’t lie about bed sides.”
Oliver peels off his shirt and takes off his pants. I just openly appreciate the sight because I can do that now. No more hiding what I think of that body, no sir. Given the smug look on Oliver’s face, he seems okay with that.
We both get in under the covers, and just gravitate toward each other. I rest my head on his shoulder and fling my leg across his, he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me so close.
I lie there for a few seconds before, “All of a sudden I’m not that tired.”
Oliver flips me onto my back without any warning, and rests his weight on his elbows. The display of core strength, the flexed muscles, the way Oliver’s smirking at me…it’s all combining to do a lot for me, honestly.
He slides his hand along my side, lifting my shirt up, up, up until he’s palming my breast, and working my nipple with his thumb the way he’s learning that I like. With a deep, dirty kiss he says, “I think I know something that can tire us out.”
Chapter Sixteen
Oliver and I settle into a relatively steady rhythm once we’re back in the city and navigating the ins and outs of being in a relationship with each other. There is, of course, the added difficulty of hiding this thing between us from all of our friends. The timing makes it relatively easy, since Mia and Caleb are off on a vacation, Ben’s in the middle of some big deadline at work, and Marisa is fully immersed in Maid of Honor duties for a friend’s wedding. I didn’t even tell Corinne during our late-night chat when I returned home from Portland and told her (almost) everything about the trip and what an utter disappointment Poppy Argyle was.
Oliver and I spend every night together—sometimes at my place, sometimes at his—and steal a few moments for ourselves during the day when we can. Now that I come home to someone at night, I’ve spent more time relaxing, working out my problems with Oliver as a built-in sounding board. After talking it out, I decided that I needed to take a little break to regroup, to settle back into sewing without the added pressure of what comes next.
I work on my designs without worrying about the payoff, and it’s fun for me in a way that it hasn’t been in a while. I make time for it because I love it, not because I’m desperate to take the next step in my career.
I also start throwing myself into work at the site, rediscovering the love that I felt for it when I first started working with Marisa. I’m working with a good friend who happens to be my sister-in-law, I set my own hours, and can creatively do pretty much anything I want. Rethinking my place at the company and looking at it through a different lens does wonders for my mood and my satisfaction level.
I’ve gotten to a good place with my work and my designs, and finding the sense of fulfillment that I have with Oliver in the short time that we’ve been together all combine to make me happier than I can ever remember being.
All in all, things are pretty great. Amazing.
On a Thursday three weeks after we get back from Portland, I arrive at the office with two hot coffees. One with cream and sugar, and one with a double shot of espresso, just the way Marisa likes it. We’re meeting to go over our posting schedule for the next couple of months, and to sync up our calendars.
Marisa and Ben are going to London to visit Corinne at the end of the month, so there are a few things we need to get finalized before Marisa takes off for a couple of weeks.
She’s not here yet, so I pop open my laptop and answer a few emails, then type in the website address for Oliver’s realtor. When her site pops up, I search for the house Oliver wants to buy, and relief washes over me when I see it’s still listed. He still hasn’t figured out a way to convince Alexandra Van Owen to sell it to him, and at this point I’ve considered dipping into my trust fund and just buying the damn thing myself. Oliver would pay me back, but I’m not entirely sure he’d go for the idea.
Maybe I should propose something while we’re in bed and he’s all wrapped up in post-orgasmic bliss.
I’m startled out of my thoughts by a high-pitched whistle behind me, which makes me nearly knock over the coffees.
“Thinking of making a purchase?” Marisa asks with a smile.
I quickly close out the window. “No,” I lie. “Just looking.”
She narrows her eyes, like she doesn’t believe me. “What are you hiding?”
My pulse kicks up, and my cheeks warm with the heat rising to my face. “I’m not hiding anything,” I say, trying to sound light and not defensive.
Turns out, I’m not a great liar. If she pushes, I’m liable to give her more information about Oliver and me than she could ever possibly want.
I need a distraction.
Marisa—thankfully—gives me one as she drops the subject and opens her arms. “Give me a hug, stranger. I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”
Hugs I can do. Hugs will keep my mouth shut.
She squeezes me tightly. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“How did Portland go?”
“It was fine,” I say, trying my very best to keep my voice even-keeled. “I took some pictures and talked to Janine about doing a feature on the site. She wants to do it, and we’re going to sit down for an interview in a couple of weeks. She wanted to highlight her charity work, so the benefit will be a nice backdrop for that.”
I make a note to talk to one of our three contributors to see if she can help me out.
“That’s good,” Marisa says, taking a seat across from me. She fishes her laptop out of her bag and powers it on. “I think that’ll work out for the best anyway. So…I have some bad news.”
My stomach drops. “What is it?”
“The Josie Livingston spread got pulled for next Friday.”
“What?” I ask, kind of panicked. I’d spent a long time working on that profile and shoot. “Why?”
“Her publicist didn’t like the write up, and refused my proposed changes. So we have to do a last-minute swap. Everything that we have completed coincides with strict promo dates so they can’t be moved. We can swap out the profile on Lyla Kennett; that’s already written.”
Lyla Kennett, the Great White Way’s newest sweetheart who has acting chops, incredible fashion sense, and plans to change the world. I’ve met her once, and she’s great. Just the kind of laid-back person you’d want to plan an emergency photo shoot for.
“I have a few favors I can call in with some photographers. I’ll get someone out here by Monday at the latest.”
“Bless you,” she says, finally noticing the coffee in front of her. “Is this for me?”
I nod, and hum my reply as I pick up my phone to start calling in some favors.
“Bless you for this, too.” She takes a long sip and closes her eyes. “Oh, by the way. I was thinking…it’s been too long since we’ve all gotten together. How about dinner tomorrow night? You, me, Ben, Caleb and Mia. We can convince Oliver to stop by.”
Maybe it seems like she gives me a knowing look when she mentions Oliver because I know I’m hiding something, or…maybe she actually gives me a knowing look when she mentions Oliver.
“I’m free,” I tell her. “Do you want me to talk to Caleb and Mia?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “They’re already in. You just have to take care of Oliver.”
I swallow hard. “Okay. I can do that.”
“One more thing,” she says. “If you’re finished with the alterations on my dress for the wedding, can you bring that by on Saturday? Kara’s turning into a real Bridezilla to the point where she doesn’t trust something’s done unless she sees it, and I want to get her off my back.”
I can’t help but laugh.
Marisa isn’t the kind to get frustrated with her friends. She has a streak of patience that’s a mile long, so if her friend is getting on her nerves, she must really be pestering Marisa.
“I meant to bring it with me today,” I reply, frustrated that I forgot. “It’s hanging up right next to the door of my studio. I’ll make myself a note, or maybe give it to Oliver to bring by. He has a better memory than I do.”
Marisa raises a brow. “You gonna see Oliver before Saturday?”
“What?” My heart starts racing, because I can’t remember what I said. Did I let something slip?
“You said maybe you’d give it to Oliver to bring by. Are you going to see him before Saturday?”
She has this look of barely contained excitement, like she’s caught me in something.
“No,” I reply quickly, figuring out a way to cover my tracks. “I pass by his block on my way home from the studio. I’ll just drop it off later tonight so I don’t forget.” It is…not a great cover.
“Okay, sure.” She absolutely does not believe me. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
I nod. I do know that. But I also know that it was important to Oliver to keep this close to the vest, and it’s his relationship too. I don’t want to let the cat out of the bag without talking to him about it first.
“When there’s something to tell, I promise I’ll tell you.”
I spend most of the day wrangling together everyone that we’ll need for a last-minute shoot on Monday, and somehow manage to pull it all together before seven-thirty. It’s with a photographer who has a reputation of being difficult—and I’ve seen that difficulty firsthand—and, unfortunately we could only schedule it at a time when Marisa will have to leave halfway through to go to another meeting, so I’ll be flying solo.
It’ll be fine. I’ve done it before.
I leave the office, hop almost enthusiastically into a cab, and spend my ride to Oliver’s apartment clearing out my inbox. When I open his front door, I’m surprised to find him lounging on an amazingly comfortable outdoor loveseat on his patio, relaxing with a glass of wine.
“Hey,” he says with a soft smile when I step outside. It’s a tad on the muggy side, but the breeze is nice this late in the evening. The sun is almost setting, streaking the sky with bright, gorgeous color.
“Hey.” I kick off my shoes and trudge over to him. He opens his arms and I fall into them, cuddling up close to his side. He coaxes my legs up and I drape them across his lap as he hands me his glass.
Mmmm. My favorite red.
“I missed you today,” he says, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss.
“You saw me this morning.”
With a smile, Oliver slides his free hand along my calf. “I still missed you. Let me be romantic.”
I can’t help but smile back at him. “Okay, be as romantic as you want.”
“You’re happy tonight. Tell me about it.”
I pull back a little so I can get a good look at him. “How do you know?”
He shrugs. “I know you, Felicity. I can see it.”
I have to keep myself from moaning as he works out a kink in my muscle that I hadn’t even realized was there. “Do you have any idea how many boyfriend points you’re racking up right now?”
“Millions, I hope. Now spill.”
I slide my hand along his arm, bringing it to rest on his bicep. “I’m not happy about one particular thing, it just…it feels like my life is coming together in a way that I never expected without me really even trying. For a long time I’ve been making clothes for fun, with this secret dream of hitting it big someday, never quite sure how I was going to make that happen. Ever since I decided to take the pressure off, sewing’s actually been fun for me.
“I’ve sort of thrown myself back into work at the site, and I’m loving that, too. I’ve kind of come to terms with the fact that this is enough for me for now, until I figure out the next step, and that I don’t have to be in a hurry to do that. And…” I lean in and kiss Oliver slow and sweet. “There’s you. You make me happy.”
Oliver gives me a warm, loving smile. “You make me happy, too.”
I rest my head on his chest as we both watch the sun setting in the distance. I love just being able to sit with him, to be able to have full conversations with light touches and soft brushes of our lips against skin. It kills me that I have to destroy this perfect mood to bring up something that I know is kind of a sensitive subject.
“Today Marisa mentioned something about everyone getting together for dinner on Saturday night.”
I don’t miss the way Oliver’s frame stiffens slightly when I mention it.
“Yeah?” He takes the half-full glass from my hands and downs a big gulp.
“Yeah.” I look down at my lap, fiddle with the hem of my shirt to distract myself. “The last time we all saw each other was that last night on Shelter Island. We can’t avoid everyone forever.”
Oliver takes a deep breath, then kisses my temple. “I know that.”
“We could just tell them, you know? Things are going well, aren’t they?”
“Things are going amazing.”
“I’m not trying to push you, Oliver. I’m just…I’m in love with you, and I want everyone to know it. I want to be together when we’re with our friends, I don’t want to have to pretend anymore. But if you’re not ready…” I try—and fail—to hide the disappointment in my voice.
Oliver puts down the glass. “It’s not you, you know that, right?”
I look down at my hands again. I know Oliver well enough to know that he isn’t embarrassed of me, but…I just don’t understand where all this hesitancy is coming from. I understand being a little nervous about my brother’s reaction, but Ben loves both of us. There’s no way he wouldn’t be supportive.
“Felicity,” he whispers, crooking his fingers beneath my chin and tilting my head up to look at him. “I love you. I’m in love with you. This isn’t about you, it’s about me. I’m all for going to the dinner, let’s just…think about telling everyone just yet, okay?”
I smile and nod, not wanting to say anything, and desperately trying to ignore the nagging feeling of impending doom I can’t shake.
Chapter Seventeen
Excited to get to work on some styling ideas I have for the shoot with Lyla Kettler on Monday, I head into the office earlier than usual. It helps that Oliver gets up at the crack of dawn to read the paper and have some breakfast. Usually I’d sleep through a boyfriend’s morning habits, but I enjoy spending time with Oliver so much that I wake up when he does, get ready alongside him, and let him drop me off on his way to work.
Oliver’s driver pulls up in front of the office building Marisa and I run the site from, and the cacophony of taxi horns around us let us know we might spend too long kissing each other goodbye. Oliver grins at me like a lovesick idiot as I get out of the car, and I grin back, sad to have to shut the door and watch him drive away. This all feels very domestic, and somewhere in the back of my mind I know I shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do.
I spend most of the day sorting through loaner outfits from designers and boutiques Marisa and I have relationships with, picking out the pieces that will complement Lyla the most. Time flies, and before I know it, it’s early afternoon. After spending a good chunk of my day around beautiful clothes, I get the itch to head to my studio and make some of my own.
I grab a quick lunch and head uptown, and eat a little before I start working on the finishing touches of a wrap shirt that I’ve been working on for the past week. It’s crisp white and classic with a flounce along the neckline. I can’t wait to finish it up and wear it. A couple hours of intense sewing with a critical eye for perfection, and I’m finally finished. I sew on one of the personalized tags I had made as kind of a joke between Corinne and me, then hang it up on my rack and make a note to myself to take it home with me.
After a little break to stretch out the kinks in my hands and neck, I turn on my compute
r and navigate to Oliver’s realtor’s homepage. It’s something I’ve gotten in the habit of doing since we got home from Portland, because I know the clock is ticking and I want to make sure it’s still on the market. To do what, exactly? I’m not sure.
My wildest idea so far has been talking to Oliver about letting me buy it. It’d be a hefty dip into my trust fund, but he would pay me back. It’s pretty much the only idea I’ve come up with that would end with him owning the house without resulting to any kind of trickery to get it. I’m not sure he’ll go for it, but I think it’s better than waiting for some kind of a miracle, only to wind up losing the house to someone else in the end.
Right when I’m about to call Oliver and see if he wants to meet up for dinner later, my doorbell buzzes.
Curious, I rush over to the speaker box, press the button and say, “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.” Oliver’s voice is warm and soft and smiley.
“It’s almost like you knew I was thinking about you.”
Somehow his laugh manages to carry through the fuzzy connection. “I’m always thinking about you.”
I don’t have a response, I just buzz him up and hope the elevator moves at the speed of light. I have to kiss him as soon as is humanly possible. I slide the door open, and lean on the doorframe so I have a good view of the elevator.
The ding before the doors open set my heart fluttering in anticipation, and when Oliver steps out into the hallway, my nerves start buzzing from my fingertips to my toes.
He’s smiling brightly, looking oh so good in his heather grey handmade Italian suit.
He kisses me like he’s waited years to do it, pressing his hand against the small of my back as he turns us from the hallway into my studio, somehow able to slide the door shut without skipping a beat.
I’m a little breathless when he pulls away, and he rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed as he smiles.
“Hi,” he breathes.
“Hi.” I fiddle with his tie, a lavender silk one that I gave him for Christmas a couple of years ago. “This is early for you.”