I consider it. My gut says to go to his, but I realize that’s probably just because I crave his presence. But since he’s already with me, maybe spending time in my room won’t feel as lonely. “Mine.”
Oliver nods. “Whenever you’re ready.”
The Village is a ghost town. It’s not surprising, given it’s Thanksgiving, but it’s still surreal to walk through the empty lobby and hallways. Oliver and I silently trek to room 714, and I immediately flop onto the couch.
“Can I get you anything?” Oliver asks. “Water? A snack? Maybe some coffee?”
I shrug. “Maybe some water?”
“You got it.”
While Oliver prepares a glass of water for me, I take the chance to watch him. I assume the events back at my parents’ house made him too hot, as evidenced by the slow deconstruction of his outfit. His sweater was the first to go in the car and is now on me instead. I’m not sure when he pulled his hair back into a bun, but now only a few loose strands of golden hair dangle freely. His white dress shirt sleeves are rolled up, exposing his long, slender arms, and several buttons at his chest have been undone. His loafers were discarded at the door the moment we stepped into the room, revealing his adorable argyle socks.
He’s so effortlessly beautiful. I adore him.
“Here you are, your excellency,” he teases, handing me a glass of iced water. “Is there anything else your heart desires?”
You,I cry, but never aloud. Instead, I chuckle. “I wish we could build that cuddle puddle again,” I muse.
Oliver tilts his head. “Yeah? Hm, I think I could find a way.”
I snicker. “No, no, it’s okay. We don’t have any air mattresses.”
“I think I still have Harrison’s in my room! Let me go get it,” he says, turning on his heel. “I’ll be back in like two seconds–”
“No, don’t go!” I beg, panic spiking. “Please.”
Oliver stops at once, returning to my side. “Okay. I’ll stay right here. Promise.”
I’m not sure whether it’s his sincere smile or the warmth with which he promised to stay by my side, but whatever was holding me together crumbles, and I break down in tears. Oliver holds me through it, rubbing gentle circles on my back and running his fingers delicately through my hair. He says nothing out loud, but his comforting presence and tender touch are everything.
After what feels like hours, I finally find my words. “Oliver, I’m so sorry.”
“Jude, hey–”
“I shouldn’t have dragged you into my family shit. I’m so sorry they were so awful to you.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, love,” he soothes. “Absolutely nothing. It’s not your fault that your family is a bunch of assholes.”
“But I shouldn’t have–”
“I wanted to come, Jude,” he insists. “I knew what I was getting myself into.”
“But—” I freeze. Wait. Did he call me “love”?
“If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry. I snapped at Cody and said things I probably shouldn’t have. I’m not sorry for what I said, but I’m sorry I broke my word to you.”
I’m only barely listening. “Love?”
Oliver’s eyes go wide. “What?”
I blink, then shake my head. I’m being an idiot. “Nothing. Sorry.”
“No, what is it?”
“Sorry. It was stupid. Earlier, you said ‘you have nothing to be sorry for, love,’ but… yeah, then I remembered you’re still probably in character.” I shrug. “See? Stupid.”
Oliver stares at me for a disquieting few seconds, then shoots to his feet.
