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A rumor I’ve heard twice now but wasn’t confirmed. “Wow. Congrats.”
His blue eyes are back on me. Searching. “Oliver didn’t mention it?”
I shake my head. “We don’t… It’s a little awkward, obviously. And Oliver and I aren’t that serious.”
Crew laughs, surprising me. “Bullshit, Hannah.”
My lips thin. “Happy endings don’t fall in everyone’s lap, Crew.”
“You think I don’t know that? But I know Oliver. I know you well enough to tell you care about Oliver in a way you were never invested in me. And Oliver hasn’t checked his email once since you guys arrived, which is about twenty times less than I normally see him on his phone. This was the first week in five years that Oliver wasn’t the last one to leave the office. You’re good for him, Hannah. He needs something to care about, besides the damn company.” He glances away to where Oliver is still standing across the room. “What I’m trying to say is, don’t let anything that happened between us affect you guys.”
“You think pretty highly of yourself, huh?”
Crew raises one eyebrow. “You’re the one who told my wife I think about you when I fuck her.”
I wince and look away. Couples have started dancing, now that dinner has ended and the cake was cut. “I was drunk.”
He smiles, then shrugs. “We all have moments in the past we wish we could change. Me. Oliver. Don’t let them talk you out of taking risks.”
“What are you, a therapist?”
He laughs, then glances past me. “Hi, big brother.”
Oliver’s eyes are on me, not Crew. Checking on my reaction.
I offer him a smile, more at ease than I’ve felt since we arrived. It feels like a boulder has been lifted off my chest now that I’ve apologized to Scarlett. Maybe some mistakes are resolvable. Some regrets reversible.
“I should go find Scarlett,” Crew says. “She hates attending these events sober. Nice talking to you, Hannah.”
“You too,” I say, before he disappears.
“You okay?” Oliver asks as soon as Crew is gone.
“Yeah. We were just…catching up.”
He nods, then sighs. “The company I talked to this morning wants to do another call. Now.”
“On a Saturday night?”
“It’s Sunday morning, for them.”
“Doesn’t sound much better.”
He half-smiles. “No. It doesn’t.”
“So, you have to leave?”
Oliver’s gaze is searching as he stares at me. I have no idea what he’s looking for. “Do you want to stay?”
“Alone? No, thanks. Camden Crane might show up again.”
“You handled him fine.”
“Not the first time a guy has approached me at a bar.”
“Yeah. I know.” He holds my gaze, and there’s a tangible pulse between us.
Somehow, I know he’s recalling when we stood together at the bar in LA. When he insisted he wasn’t jealous. “Well, if we’re leaving I should—”
