“Smile!” the woman directs. I grin, easy and natural. “One more!”
Just as she raises the phone again, Oliver leans in near my ear. “Look like you tolerate me, yeah?”
I laugh—full, stupid, unfiltered laughter—right as she takes the next photo.
“Oh, beautiful!” the woman exclaims, handing my phone to Oliver. “You two make such a lovely couple.”
Both of us start talking at the same time, and way too fast. “Oh, no—we’re not—”
She waves us off like she doesn’t believe a word and strolls away. We head in the other direction, both giggling at what happened.
“That’s one for the scrapbook,” Oliver says, grinning as he shows me the photos.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual, even though my cheeks are on fire. “Definitely one to show the grandkids.”
Bythe time we reach my apartment, the sky is almost completely dark. I’m exhausted in the most perfect way—feet sore, cheeks still warm. Oliver walks me to my door, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed. The most relaxed I’ve seen him, come to think of it.
“Thank you again for today,” I say, turning to face him. “I’m sorry your rest day turned into the London Marathon.”
He shakes his head once, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not.”
Two words.I’m not.The way he says them, the way he looks at me, does something to me. A low flutter in my stomach. I open my mouth to say something, but close it just as quickly.
There’s a pause. It’s not awkward, but it’s not comfortable. It’s one of those moments that feels like it could easily tip into something if one of us leaned in just a little bit closer.
“Well, I’ll see you at work,” I say finally, breaking the spell.
“Yeah,” he says, but it’s soft. Like he’s wishing he said something else. Like there’s more he didn’t say.
I smile. “Goodnight, Captain.”
He glances at me, and there’s that look again—like there’s something flickering just beneath the surface. “Goodnight, Addison.”
I slip inside my apartment, close the door behind me, and lean against it.
I really want to break one of my rules.
Fuck.
12
transfer window
BROAD SHOULDERED BEASTS BY MUMFORD & SONS
I’m supposed to be working.
I have countless emails to answer, a press release to write, and a branding proposal to get ready for Sebastian. I’ve done none of it.
Instead, I’m staring at my phone.
Atthatphoto.
The one from yesterday—Oliver and I standing in Hyde Park, his arm around me in the most natural way, caught mid-laugh by a stranger with excellent timing and no sense of boundaries. It doesn’t even look posed. It just looks like something that’s been real for a long time.
When did things shift? When did he go from brooding and hating me, to tolerating me, to whatever this is? Because this feels like something different from just tolerating me. If this is how he tolerates people, I’m curious how he acts when he really likes someone.
His eyes are brown. I knew that the day I met him, when he tricked me into walking into a locker room of half-naked men. I noticed them then. But I didn’t reallyseethem until now. They’re warm,and they seem to twinkle whenever he flashes that elusive smile. But there’s something sad in them, like they’ve never known peace.
