And yet—I’m excited. I’m sitting here practically jumping out of my skin. And even more confusing to me, I’m nervous. Spending a day together in London was one thing, but a whole weekend alone with him in his hometown?
I’m not even sure when it started—this thrilling, terrifying shift—but now it’s here. It’s real, and it’s rooted itself deep in my rib cage. I keep telling myself he’s just a good friend. But… Luke is a good friend. Pippa is a good friend. And despite their friendships, which I am grateful for, it doesn’t feel the same. I tell myself it’s just because he makes me feel safe. Because he held me when I broke down.
But that’s a lie, isn’t it?
Because it’s not just about feeling safe. It’s because I keep thinking about his smile, the one he only seems to show me. The way he looks at me, not as the club’s PR manager, but as someone he truly sees.
And now I’m about to meet his mother. Not meeting her in a romantic, meet your partner’s mother way. It’s more like, here’s the friend I’m taking pity on. I tell myself that’s all it is. But then, deep down, I want her to like me.
That thought swirls through my head, striking me with the fear that I should have baked something or worn something different, which is completely ridiculous because it’s just a casual weekend and he’s Oliver and—
There’s a knock at the door. It saves me from completely spiraling. I take a deep breath and walk over to the door like I’m totally casual and not at all on the verge of crashing out.
When I open the door, he’s standing there in jeans and a black hoodie—simple and gorgeous.
“Hey, you,” he says, grinning at me. “Ready?”
“Yes,” I say, unable to suppress a smile.
He takes one look at the suitcase by my feet and raises an eyebrow. “Is that for the weekend or are you moving?”
“Well, I… it’s just for this weekend.” Guilty. I over-packed. I do that when I’m nervous. I come up with contingency plans in my head and prepare for every single one of them.
He grabs the handle, lifting it up with a dramatic grunt. “God, it’s even heavier than I thought.”
“I like to be prepared,” I say as I follow him out of the building. “You never know when you might need something.”
“Right,” he says, laughing over his shoulder. “I forgot my hometown doesn’t have a Tesco.”
“Well, how would I know? It’s not like you’ve been Mr. Forthcoming about personal details.”
He huffs out a laugh, then slides the suitcase onto the back seat of his car. He does it like it’s no big deal. Like this whole thing—picking me up, carrying my suitcase—is just a totally normal thing we do.
He opens the passenger door for me, and I slide in. He climbs into the driver's seat and grins at me.
“Stupid question, but you got everything?”
“Just drive, Captain.”
We’re still gently bickering when we hit the motorway, but it’s easy. The city fades behind us, and with every mile we put between us and London, I feel like I can finally breathe. Oliver’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting comfortably on the gear stick. His eyes flick casually between the road and his mirrors.
We chat about nothing and everything—team gossip, weird British TV shows I find on super late at night, what it was like for him coming up through the academy football programs, and all my haunts in New York.
“How long does it take to get to your town?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, laughing. “It’s technically about forty-five minutes southeast, but with good old London traffic, it’s well over an hour.”
“Alright.” I shift in my seat to get comfortable. “Tell me about your mother.”
He glances at me, then back to the road. His eyes flicker, like he’s not used to being asked about her. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” I hesitate, then remember how private he is about his family. I remind myself about Cassandra, and how she sold stories to the press. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him to tell me his life story. “Anything you’re comfortable telling me, that is.”
“Hmm.” He chuckles quietly. “Mum is… she’s incredible. My dad took off when I was a toddler, and she raised me and my brother, Henry, on her own. She had two jobs at one point and still never missed a match.”
I’ve never heard him say Henry’s name out loud before. I know from my research that Henry was Oliver’s older brother, and he died when they were teenagers. Oliver never talks about it publicly. I want to ask, but I don’t.
I glance over at him. “That’s amazing.”
