My eyebrows shot up before I could even attempt to contort my face into a neutral expression. “Youown a house?” I asked, surprise leaking into my tone. Oliver had the whole, kid-at-heart routine down pat. Homeowner was not a phrase I had ever imagined would describe him.
He tilted his chin in my direction as if reading my mind. “Yes, I do, thank you very much. I don’t appreciate how shocked you look right now. Is it so wild to think that I might be financially responsible?”
Yes.
“Of course not,” I said, trying to save face. “You just never mentioned it so…I don’t know. I guess you seemed more like the type that would live out of a van than a house.”
He pretended to look thoughtful for a moment. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he finally said. “But vanlife isn’t for me. Not a lot of headspace for people over six foot three and I need to stretch out, ya know?” To demonstrate his point, he clasped his hands together and reached over his head, his chest puffing out in the process.
My cheeks reddened. “Sorry, right.” I stuttered over my words, tearing my eyes away from his face. “Obviously you could own a house. I just never thought about it before, but it makes sense. I mean, you had to live somewhere before this,and why not a house? Honestly, I never even thought about it.”
I was rambling uncontrollably, but my tangled tongue seemed to have a mind of its own. Normally, I wasn’t nervous around guys, but Oliver was different. The confident—though admittedly distraught—version of myself I’d been when I first met him felt like a distant memory. It was hard to believe I’d ever had the audacity to just lean in and kiss him like I had. His self-assurance, combined with how different he was from me, was disarming. Even if I still had my successful career, I knew it wouldn’t impress him in the slightest, and that thought made me uneasy. In fact,nothingabout me could ever impress him. Now that I was aware of that, my heartrate spiked anytime I spent more than one interrupted second looking into his eyes.
“Frankie, relax.” Oliver laughed softly and shook his head. “I wasn’t offended. Trust me, if you ever meet my brother, you’ll realize my skin is thick as shit.”
“Okay,” I squeaked out, cursing my voice for cracking. I knocked on the bar and nervously scanned the restaurant. “Um, so, what’s for dinner tonight?” I asked him, not bothering to hand him a menu. Marie’s was technically more of a lounge than a restaurant—whatever the hell that was supposed to mean—and we only served about ten items. They consisted of small plates and whole foods that had a farm-to-table feel, and most of it was vegetarian. Oliver had already tried everything at this point.
“Another kale and super grain bowl, I guess.” Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like Oliver winced when he said it.
“I’ll put it in,” I said, but just then, Bev rushed behind me, holding plates and heading to the dining room.
“I got it, Frankie. I’m already running back and forth from the kitchen anyway.”
“Thanks, Bev,” Oliver called as she raced to a table to set down the plates of food.
His smile stayed plastered to his face. I’d grown to be slightly obsessed with the way it curled into his cheeks. Almost as if it were a smirk, but it was the most genuine thing I’d ever seen. I poured him his favorite beer and slid it across the bar.
He caught the beer and eyed my hand. “Glad to see your wrist has completely healed.”
My cheeks flushed as I stopped leaning on my hands to rub the completely falsified injury. “Still a little tender.”
Oliver’s eyes twinkled at my obvious lie. “Is it?”
“So, about my next intro-to-fun course.” I toweled off the bar, changing the subject.
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Oliver asked. “I’ve got it all planned out. The day after tomorrow. Bright and early.”
“Can’t wait,” I said, not even having to feign my excitement.
“You’re going to love it,” he insisted.
“Am I?” I teased. I was excited at the thought of spending some more one-on-one time with Oliver. Time that didn’t involve a medic room or feeling self-conscious and nervous on a ski hill.
“It’s going to blow you away,” he confirmed.
“Wow, confident. I like it.” I winked at him, which caused his already-big smile to widen.
A new group came in and approached the bar. I held up a finger to Oliver before going over to take their order.
When I came back, Bev was already swinging by.
“Order up,” Bev said, as she set a bowl in front of Oliver.
“I’ll pick you up at six a.m.,” he said, before picking up a fork and taking a less-than-enthusiastic bite of the kale salad.
“You have a car?” I blurted out.
He froze mid-bite before chewing slowly, squinting his eyes and giving me a strange look. He swallowed and shook his head. “Yes, Frankie. Jesus. You don’t think I own a car either?”
