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“Thanks,” I say, not at all thankful about this conversation, but glad to be leaving it behind.
I get in my gray-blue Toyota Corolla and start it up, looking down at my old, mom-waisted jeans and plain, long-sleeved tee.
The dress I’d worn last time was too much. It had a nice cut—one of my best dresses. What had I been thinking? I can’t do that sort of thing. I can’t lose my head.
Thus, the most boring, shapeless outfit I could find.
Something had come over Oliver yesterday. It was like he’d been holding his breath and then had that panicked feeling like he needed to come up for air. We went from standing there, arguing about my old feelings surrounding Oliver being hired instead of Sebastian, to him leaving, doing some weird waving thing at me as he walked down the hall.
I’ll admit it. I had been jonesing for Sebastian when Oliver started working there. I was good and sad for one, maybe two shifts. But then, it was like something clicked and the immature crush on his older brother was erased. By the time I was good and mature—at eighteen years old—I’d fully and wholeheartedly said a secret “I do” to seal my heart to Oliver.
I read a lot of books, okay? I’m dramatic sometimes.
But Oliver used to feel like my other half. Like a guy who both finishes your sentences and points out the spinach in your teeth, all while making you feel like a million bucks.
I felt nothing for Sebastian when he walked in the room yesterday. I haven’t for a very long time.
It was the way Oliver was looking at me that had my stomach batting away butterflies. First, he studied me and my reactions to Sebastian. Then, he looked at me when I pouted and the energy in the room made my knees soft—useless. The way he stared at my lips? In a different life, I would have grabbed him and kissed him senseless.
It was a good thing he’d walked away.
Chapter 8
Sophie
Except for the security guard who nods when I arrive at the resort, I don’t see anyone else there. Even when I step out of the elevator, the fourth floor feels empty and quiet. I walk past Oliver’s closed office door and down the hall.
I reach the library nook area. Yes, it’s miniscule. But with the right finishings and décor, it will turn out, right?
Unsure if I should go knock on Oliver’s office door, I start looking at photos of hotel libraries on my phone. Most seem at least twice the size of this little…area. I can’t even call it a room. Oliver’s probably right, though. Sebastian’s not going to budge on this. And I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
My eyes scan the area, my mind filling in the spaces with possibilities. Maybe the Tates would let me put up some luxurious drapes and add some greenery, to define the space a little better.
One thing is certain, I will make this work. This is an opportunity I will not squander. Don’t get me wrong. I love my main squeeze, Scott, the mobile library—he feels like home. But I’ve been working there a long time, cramped, dealing with the smell of antifreeze, needing to conjure some silly song and dance to drum up interest in the library as I drive it from town to town.
But this? Curating a library for the Tate brothers’ resort? I’ve been in a tight, stuffy desert and Oliver’s bringing me a tall glass of water.
Oliver himself is a tall glass of water, but that’s a whole other story…one that I can’t crack open and dive into, even though I want to.
I wait around for a few more minutes before heading back down the way I came. I rap on his office door, imagining how amazing it would be to take it off its hinges, widen the doorway a bit, and put the library in here.
He opens it and is on the phone. His eyes grow large, and he grins. He puts his hand over his phone and whispers to me, “Hey, come on in. Stella’s here at the resort, but she’s kind of lost.” He leaves the door open behind me.
“Aunt Stella?” I squeal. “She’s here at the hotel?” Oliver’s dad’s sister is one of a kind. I met Oliver’s parents once at Shake, Shake, Shake, and nearly broke out in hives from trying to avoid any foot-in-my-mouth scenarios or spilling their shakes all over them.
But Stella is warm and gentle. She could make Monaco royalty feel comfortable at a Longdale barn dance.
“She’s trying to find us,” he whispers, and then gets back to Stella, giving her directions to turn left and then right. To be fair, the layout is confusing, and most of the doors and hallways don’t have any signs on them yet.
Pretty soon, Stella’s there and she’s hugging me in a cloud of almond lotion scent, and maybe some of whatever food she brought in a Pyrex container.
“Sophie!” She looks at me, then at Oliver, and then back at me. “I’m glad to see you two hanging out again.” She has big hair—a short, chic steel grey style that’s been teased and sprayed. Her large, blue eyes hold a genuine sweetness. She lives just a few streets over from me and was the Longdaler who helped the most when my mom died.
“I still can’t believe these boys are building this thing in Longdale,” she says to me as she touches Oliver’s cheek. “I would have never predicted they’d do such a thing, being so busy conquering the world. But I couldn’t be happier about it. With this place to tend to, we’ll get the boys here in town more often.” With that, she gives his cheek a light smack.
The Tate brothers visited their aunt every summer growing up. It was her house they flocked to, while their parents were in some foreign country, doing charity work or something or other to build the family business. All the boys love her, especially Oliver.
He reaches over for a Stella hug around the Pyrex. “Glad you found my office. I was beginning to wonder if you would,” he teases.
