I reach for both his hands. “You’re doing exactly what I asked you to do, and I appreciate it more than you can know.”
Oliver’s jaw tightens. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”
I glance at my watch. “I think just an hour or so more and we can leave.”
“Anhour?” Oliver echoes, an octave higher than usual. “Jude–”
“Please? It’s almost over.”
Oliver presses his lips tightly, and I watch as tiny little muscles twitch across his face. It pains me to know he’s suffering, too. I knew it would be awful for me, but I hate myself for dragging Oliver into it. “Okay,” he says. “One more hour.”
I smile, pulling him to me and wrapping my arms around his waist. He drapes his arms around me, too, enveloping me in warmth and safety, and my heart flutters. Pressing my face into his chest, I breathe deeply, inhaling his comforting scent. Sixty more minutes until it’s just Oliver and me again, and we’ll be free. The two of us against the world.
“Did you just sniff me?” Oliver asks.
I freeze. “What? No,” I blurt, halfheartedly trying to pull away.
Oliver doesn’t allow it, holding me tight against him. He laughs. “You did, didn’t you?”
“I was just breathing,” I argue, pushing against him as my face burns with embarrassment.
Oliver chuckles again. “You’re lying.”
“Okay, fine, I sniffed you,” I admit. “You smell nice. Sue me.”
Oliver releases me, an adorably smug grin on his face. “You smell good, too, you know.”
“Shut up and help me with the desserts,” I mutter, grinning despite myself.
The two of us unwrap and arrange my homemade sweets on the designated dessert table—two pumpkin pies and three trays of cookies. I add my handwritten labels and set out a stack of plates, napkins, and utensils, then step back to admire the spread.
Oliver swipes one of each cookie and tosses them onto his plate. When I give him a quizzical look, he quickly explains: “I’m going to grab some pie later.”
I laugh. “You really don’t have to have any of it.”
He gawks at me. “Are you kidding? I’ve been looking forward to this all day!”
Dessert is served, and my family’s attention on Oliver and me finally wanes. Eventually, the family migrates to the living room, where the television has switched fromBlueyto football. Thirteen-year-old Madison, still admiring Oliver from afar, sits by an outlet in the corner, charging her phone. Most of the other kids have dispersed, leaving only Cooper, Harper, and Emma in the living room with the adults. Emma continues working on her wildflowers, and Taylor brings Harper to the coffee table to join in. Oliver and I find two unoccupied folding chairs and settle in. I check my watch. Just forty-three more minutes until we can leave.
As I scramble to find a plausible excuse for our departure, Oliver scoots our chairs closer together and stretches his arm across the back of my chair, gently rubbing my shoulder. I smile and lean into his chest, and he presses a kiss to the top of my head. My heart flutters and aches. Only forty-three more minutes with Oliver as my boyfriend. I might as well enjoy every second.
“Those cookies were truly delicious, DEADNAME,” Ashlynn announces, holding yet another glass of wine.
“And the pie’s incredible, too,” Aunt Lisa adds. “You’re an excellent baker.”
I smile bashfully. “Thank you.”
Oliver gives my shoulder a little squeeze. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“You know what they say,” Steph chimes in. “The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”
Oliver laughs. “I mean, they’re not wrong. I’m a big fan of food.”
I stifle a giggle. “The biggest fan.”
“Does DEADNAME cook for you?” Steph asks.
Oliver glances at me before answering. “Yeah, sometimes.”
