Pinpoint (Point #4)

by Olivia Luck

Reaching down, I clasp my sister’s hand in mine and drag it to my chest, right over to my heart. “There’s no way I’ll go back to Winter. Nothing would make me want to live there again. My life is here now, Violet. All that time in Winter I was asleep, and now, I’m waking up and learning what it is that I want from life. There are all these opportunities ahead of me. You gave me the world.” Sighing heavily, I shake my head. “By leaving, you showed me what courage looks like. I could have followed you. Instead, I stayed home until you prompted me to leave. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be in that house, probably getting married to John Tyler.”

  My sister wrinkles her nose. “That goody-goody is not right for you.”

  “He’s not so bad. John wanted to marry me about as much as I wanted to marry him. We became decent friends.”

  “I’ve been thinking about our options.” Placing her hands behind her on the desk, Violet leans backward. “Stella’s idea of hiring an assistant for her wedding could be the solution. When you’re ready to move on, it wouldn’t be too difficult to find someone else to work here.”

  The world tilts momentarily, and I’m thrown off my center of gravity.

  “What’s wrong?” Violet notices my distress instantly.

  “Figuring out what to do next,” I say a little helplessly.

  “If you want any help, I’m here for you,” Violet says sincerely.

  Guilt wraps around me like a noose. The weight of the secret I’ve been hiding from my sister crushes me. “I had sex with Oscar.” Cheeks red with embarrassment, I duck my head.

  With a glacial pace, my sister turns to fully give me her shocked stare. “Oscar Alexander,” she repeats incredulously.

  “Yes,” I mumble.

  “When?”

  I can’t meet her gaze when I respond. “Last summer. It—it was nothing. I didn’t want to tell you because I’m ashamed of myself, and I didn’t want you to think I moved to the city and lost my morals.”

  “Hold on a second. I’m confused. You had sex over the summer, and you’re hanging out now all friendly like.” She pales. “Are you still hooking up?”

  “No! Goodness, no.” By now, my cheeks are flaming red, but I’m able to meet her stare. “After it had happened, Oscar made it crystal clear he was not looking for a relationship, but then . . . I don’t know, this whole situation is confusing. Oscar wants to be friends, and that’s what we have become.”

  “That would explain why he offered to step in for the Sterling wedding,” Violet says carefully, but I almost hear the cogs turning in her mind.

  “Last night, he came by to make sure I was all right and to give me advice.” Violet’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline. “And he texted me this morning to check in again. This whole situation is backward, I know, going from, um, lovers to friends, but now, we’re solidly in the friend arena.”

  “Before I weigh in, let’s start at the beginning. Tell me how you ended up with Oscar.”

  I worry my lower lip between my teeth. “Not too much to share. After my first night of tutoring, I was really upset that the students didn’t take to me, and he came by to give me a pep talk. One thing led to another, and he asked me on a date. You were with Cameron that night and, I don’t know, I thought Oscar asking me out was a fluke. If nothing came of it, I didn’t want to make a big deal. He took me to an authentic Mexican place in Pilsen, and we ended up back at his place . . .”

  Violet’s eyes narrow dangerously.

  “You can figure out the rest.”

  “So, what? You woke up the next morning, and he said, ‘P.S. let’s be friends.’”

  Uncomfortable with the unpleasant memories, I find myself frowning. “Not exactly.”

  “Tell me what he did.”

  “When I woke up, he was gone. There was a brush-off note on the pillow. That’s when I met his mother.”

  Violet practically seethes with visible anger. “What kind of jerk leaves you alone in his house? And, wait, you met Elizabeth Alexander?”

  “It was humiliating. That’s another reason I didn’t want to say anything to you. I was mortified.” I lift my shoulders in a self-deprecating shrug. “He’s apologized to me—several times. It was an awful thing to do to another human being, and I’m not making any excuses for him, but he didn’t make me any false promises.”

  “Iris, you gave him your virginity. At least, I think you did?”

  I nod my shameful confirmation.

  “He should have treated you with dignity, and I am furious with him.”

  “Steam is practically coming from your ears, I can tell.” The joke does nothing to deter her anger. “He didn’t lead me on, and if I had been really listening, I would have heard him say that he wasn’t looking for a commitment. Don’t be angry with him. It was months ago, and now, we’re truly friends.”

  “But you have feelings for him,” she accuses.

  I’m not able to hide my grimace, and the denial sounds weak to my own ears. “No. Well, even if I did, I know where he stands. Violet, please don’t say anything to him. Please. He made amends, and we both moved on. I love that you’re protective of me, but let this one go. For me.”

  Violet sighs unhappily and crosses her arms over her chest. “Fine,” she eventually grumbles. “Can we go back to the part where you met Elizabeth Alexander after a night in her son’s bed?”

  “It was the most awkward interaction on my end, but Elizabeth was a picture of grace. When I saw her at the Gratitude Dinner, she acted as if we were old friends. Oscar says she’s big on manners, but I think she’s a genuinely nice, non-judgmental woman. Like her son.” I add the last part knowing Violet may disagree, but I stand firmly by my judgment of Oscar.

  Violet grunts an incoherent response.

  “What was that?” I ask with a little laugh.

  “You’re too forgiving.”

  I cock an eyebrow at Violet. “At one time, I may have denied that, but I’m learning I need to accept myself for who I am. Yes, I am forgiving.”

  “Would you forgive our parents?”

  “I don’t know. Even if I was open to forgiveness, the likelihood of them changing or asking for it is close to zero. And I can’t think of one reason to visit Winter. I wouldn’t willingly go there.”

  Violet looks mournful. “Sometimes, when I think about our parents, it’s almost like they are dead. Not physically, but dead to me emotionally. Does that make sense?”

  I rub my hand on her back sympathetically. “Unfortunately, it does.”

  “Iris, I wish you trusted me enough to share things with me,” Violet says softly.

  My hand stills on her back, heart lodging in my throat. “You’re right on that, too.” The words come out thickly. “I have this thing with wanting your approval. Blame it on Mommy and Daddy issues, I guess.” I try to force a smile, but it feels tight against my cheeks. “Whenever I do something, I don’t want it to reflect poorly on you or make you think less of me.”

  “Iris, you’re my sister. I’ll love you no matter what. Do I need to do something more to prove it to you?”

  “Insecurity got the best of me. But I’ve learned my lesson. Trust me.”

  “Oscar Alexander. Work. Career goals. Family issues. Trust issues.” Violet ticks off each item on her finger. “Am I missing anything? I think we covered all the big points.”

  “Wait! You’re moving in with Cameron. We didn’t discuss that yet.”

  The happiness radiating off my sister is contagious, and I find myself grinning in response to her exuberance. “He asked me on New Year’s Eve. I took a lesson from you because I’ve been having a hard time reconciling it with myself, and I didn’t want to freak you out with plans of moving out when you just moved in.”

  “It won’t be too different from the way things are now. You practically live with him and even stay there when he’s out of town.”

  Violet huffs. “I’m not there that often.”

  Cocking my head to the side, I look at her skeptically.

/>   “Okay, okay,” she relents sheepishly.

  “Things will be different when you move in with Cameron, but that’s okay. We’re adults and life’s full of change. We’re better off embracing it than fighting it. Especially because this change is a positive one. I’m really thrilled for you, Violet. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s you. And Cameron’s pretty cool too.”

  Violet nods. “Thank you for supporting me.”

  I sling my arm around my sister’s shoulder and hug her to my side. “We’re relearning parts of sisterhood. And I think we’re doing a darn good job of it.”

  Violet drops her head to my shoulder. “Whew. This took a lot out of me. Should we get lunch?”

  “I wasn’t sure how this conversation would go, so I called in the reserve troops just in case I needed more to persuade you to forgive me.”

  Violet perks up, and my arm falls aside when she sits straight. “Chicken salad?”

  “And tuna salad.”

  “Surf and turf,” Violet cheers.

  Laughing, I follow her off the desk and toward the kitchen space. “Normally, that refers to steak and lobster, not deli sides.”

  “Don’t undersell your chicken salad.” Violet throws me a look over her shoulder, wiggles her eyebrows. “After the unpredictable morning I had with Paige, I need a constant in my life. Your salads are nothing if not spectacular every time.”

  Later that night, Violet watches me cook our dinner from the kitchen bar. She sits on one of the stools, typing on her computer and occasionally asking me questions.

  “Do you prefer working with teenagers or younger kids?”

  “Either, I suppose.”

  “Did you like school? I can’t believe I hadn't asked you this before but did you finish your associate’s degree?”

  Pausing in the middle of filling a quesadilla with cheese and shredded chicken, I quirk an eyebrow. “What are you getting at?”

  “Thinking about your next steps. If you want to teach professionally, you’ll have to get a certificate. That means school and potentially debt.”

  “I’m not sure I want to spend all of my time in a classroom. Mentoring Chicago never feels like work, and I don’t want that to change.” Turning my focus back to our meal, I hum to myself.

  “Okay. Strike that suggestion from the list. What about working in a kitchen? Hey, Oscar Alexander must have connections with bakeries and restaurants in the city. And he can vouch for you.”

  The gas stove hisses as the flame ignites. I don’t bother turning around to give my sister a stern look. “You’re not slick.”

  “What’s there to be slick about?” Violet asks innocently. “If Oscar’s a great friend, he’ll have no problem doing a favor for you.”

  The first of the quesadillas hits the cast-iron skillet with a sizzle. “I’m not comfortable asking Oscar for favors.”

  “Why not? You’re friends.” She stresses the second word, and my hackles raise.

  “We are friends. He’s the one who encouraged me to be honest with me—and you.” Glancing over my shoulder, I give her a pointed stare. “That doesn’t mean he needs to find me a job or be my reference.”

  Violet returns my forceful stare. “Actually, it means just the opposite. Clearly, he’s invested in your friendship enough to show up at our house to check on your well-being.”

  At that exact moment, a jingle interrupts our conversation and both our eyes fly to my lit cell phone. “Did I mention that I’m sorry for looking at your phone without your permission?” Violet says, trying not to look at my screen.

  With a sigh, I turn back to dinner, flipping the tortillas carefully. “I’m glad you read my phone. It was the catalyst for our conversation. Tell me who’s calling please.”

  Violet sucks in a breath.

  “What?” Instantly, I’m tense.

  “Oscar.”

  “You scared me!” I cry. “I thought it was one of our parents—although I’m not sure how they would have gotten my number. But still.”

  “Sorry! I was surprised. It went to voice mail. Do you want to call him back?” she asks temptingly.

  “No. I’m eating dinner with my sister. I’ll call him back after. If you don’t drop this topic, I’m going to burn your dinner.”

  Violet gasps in mock outrage. “How dare you!”

  After we’ve eaten, cleaned the kitchen, and spent an hour crawling through potential jobs on the Internet, I sneak off to my room to call Oscar.

  He picks up on the first ring.

  “There you are,” he says. Do I detect a note of worry?

  “Hi.”

  “Been thinking about you all day,” he says huskily. “How are you?”

  My heart physically aches in my chest. God. Why can’t he want me the way I want him? I don’t know how much more of this friend stuff I can take. Every interaction, every smile, every word, every innocent touch makes me fall deeper and deeper. I have no protective armor or battle plan to resist him. Why deny the undeniable?

  “Violet and I hashed everything out. There’s been a lot piling up between us, for one reason or another, and we didn’t feel comfortable discussing it out loud. Both of us are so afraid to hurt the other because we’re all we have.” My voice trembles a little, recognizing the importance of the bond with my sister. “We worked it out.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Sincerity rings in his deep rumble.

  “Without your pep talk, I’m not sure I would have been able to be honest with her. Thank you, Oscar.”

  “You would have been fine without me,” he scoffs.

  “No matter what you say, I know the truth about you, Oscar Alexander.”

  “And what’s that?” I swear I hear a flirtatious undertone in his words, but it’s probably a reflex for him.

  “You’re a wonderful friend. Selfless and thoughtful.”

  Silence wages between us, and I wonder if I’m showing my cards (again).

  “Did you discuss your career?” When he speaks, his voice wraps around me like a comforting cocoon. He sounds genuinely interested. If only he would talk to me like this every day. If only he would decide friendship is not enough for him.

  “Actually, yes. I need to figure out what it is that I want to do first, but once I have a plan, she’ll find a permanent solution for me. Maybe it will be a slow transition, but I don’t want to leave her in a lurch.”

  “No matter what you say, I know the truth about you, Iris Harper.”

  I smile at the reflection of my own words. “And what’s that?”

  “You are a wonderful sister. Loyal and dependable. Beautiful and brave. Kind and giving. Intelligent and luminous.”

  My breath catches in my throat. Heck, I’m not sure I can breathe. What is he saying? Does he know what he’s doing to me?

  “Oscar.” I nearly choke on his name.

  “I’m sorry, Iris, but they need me in the kitchen. I have to get back to work. I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?”

  “Ye-yeah,” I stammer.

  “Have a good night.” The phone clicks, and he’s gone.

  I collapse on my bed, hugging my phone to my chest. Underneath the device, my heart hammers in my chest relentlessly. Oscar’s never spoken to me this way. Not even on our date. Especially not on our date.

  Then I remember I don’t need to analyze this on my own.

  Jumping upward, I call out my sister’s name. Only a few seconds later, the door bursts open and she races in. “What’s the matter?”

  “Were you waiting for me to call for you?” I ask suspiciously.

  She feigns an innocent look. “Maybe. Were you on the phone with Oscar?”

  “He’s tying me in knots,” I confess.

  “Spill.” Violet climbs onto my bed and shuffles until her back meets the pillows. I cross my legs and face her then I repeat the conversation as best as I can remember it.

  “He wants you,” she evaluates confidently.

  I frown. “If there’s anything I learned from thi
s experience, it’s that I cannot have a physical relationship with a man without the emotional part.”

  “It sounds to me like you have the emotional aspect of your relationship. And when I say he wants you, I do mean physically, but from what you’re telling me, Oscar adores you. I saw it with my own eyes at Mariposa. He stared at you all evening. That’s the sign of a man swept up in a woman.”

  “You sound so sure of yourself,” I say forlornly. “He’s told me multiple times in multiple ways that all he wants is friendship. I’m not denying I have feelings for him, too, but . . . I don’t want to get hurt again.”

  “Fair enough,” Violet says slowly. “The last thing I want is you hurting. Maybe it’s time you are as honest with him as you are me.”

  “There’s a chance he won’t want to see or speak to me again if I lay out boundaries,” I muse unhappily.

  “Are you prepared to lose him from your life?” Violet asks wisely.

  I meet her earnest with what is most likely a pitiful expression.

  “I don’t know.”

  Oscar

  “Boss, there’s a VIP asking for you at table six.” I’m in the kitchen at Mariposa, hovering around like an errant gnat. My kitchen runs seamlessly. Even if I were to roll up my sleeves and find my way into the foray, it would disrupt the harmony of the stations. To think, I can’t find a place in my own kitchen. It’s ridiculous. Here I am in slacks and have to see to the VIPs.

  Jesus.

  “Got it,” I mutter to the restaurant concierge standing at the door to the kitchen. Except for the sounds of pans moving, flames licking, and sizzling morsels of food, the room is mostly quiet. Concentration is paramount. This is one of my rules, and I’ll remove anyone who does not adhere to it. Mariposa is the culmination of my preferences in the kitchen and wildest desires for restaurant conceptualization. Eighteen courses to delight and dazzle my guests. While I still play a role in approving and editing the menu, I am not the one inventing the dishes.

  Envy floods through my veins while I watch the staff fulfill my vision.

  With a barely concealed sigh, I turn and prowl through the building. Table six is on the second story of Mariposa. My restaurant has thirty tables. Plush carpet covers only the staircase, the rest of the flooring is Madagascar Ebony. Unbelievably expensive but worth every decadent cent.