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Oliver laughed a little. “That’s fair. Okay, what are you afraid of?”
I looked at him, weighing whether I wanted to make a joke or go serious. “Losing the people I love. How about you?”
He reached out and brushed the back of my hand with his fingertips, his voice soft when he spoke. “Me too.” Our gazes locked for a charged moment, my heart beating wildly in my chest. Oliver inched closer as if he were going to kiss me when someone behind us coughed. We backed away from each other and looked at the interrupter, a skinny teenager with blond hair sticking every which way.
“Excuse me. Can I play through?”
Oliver nodded and gestured forward. “Sure, we’re in no hurry. Go for it.”
The teenager putted quickly and moved on to the next hole while we stood by awkwardly, my hands in my pockets, Oliver looking anywhere but at me.
My curiosity got the better of me and I couldn’t help but clear my throat when the teenager was gone. “Losing the people you love?”
Oliver looked at me, brow furrowed, before looking away. “Yeah.” His tone was reserved and quiet.
“Is that what happened between you and your ex?”
His gaze snapped to meet mine. “What do you know about that?”
I shrugged. “Not much. Do you want to talk about it?”
Oliver kicked at the ground in front of him idly, nudging a lump in the carpet with his toe. “I… I was in love with Shane. Chef Messenger. He hired me at his first restaurant, trained me. He showed me how to be a chef. I don’t mean the technical aspect of it, even though he did teach me some of that. I mean he taught me how to treat people, how to run the show. It wasn’t pretty. Shane was… he had a temper. He screamed at people every night. Cursed at them, called them names. If the plating was just a half-inch off-center, he would literally sling the dish at you. Not to mention what he’d do if something wasn’t cooked properly. Eventually we opened Hidden Cove together. Things were great for a time. Until they weren’t. Until Shane was angry all the time, angry at his staff, angry at the customers, and angry at me. Instead of cowering, I met him right where he was. I went toe-to-toe with him every single service.”
I nodded, my stomach churning with acid. I wanted to hold him, touch him and reassure him that I wasn’t his ex, not by a mile, and he didn’t need to be that person anymore.
“One night, he lit into someone over a steak that wasn’t cooked correctly. I don’t remember the details. I just remember the blood pouring from the guy’s face as Shane pummeled him into the asphalt outside of the restaurant. It was bad. Shane was arrested and actually served jail time, and I took the incident as my sign to buy him out. We were both famous by then. For our foodandour attitudes. I had paparazzi at my door every night. They don’t hound me as much anymore. I’m liking the quiet life. For a while after he was gone, I was pretty broken. Jeremiah and Cara stuck around, though, and they’ve gotten me through some tough shit. I don’t know what I’d do without them anymore.”
“Wow,” I murmured. “That’s… a lot.”
He took a shaky breath and nodded. “If you don’t want to, I don’t know, keep doing this because of what I just told you, I get it. You can walk away. I won’t hold it against you. I’m not that guy anymore, but I understand if you don’t want to take the risk.”
I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment. “You’re not going to scare me away. Not a chance in hell.”
He frowned, brow furrowing. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“I’m not going to lie. It’s not exactly a good look. But you said you’re different. You’ve learned, you’ve changed. I believe you.”
The smile that broke over his face was like the dawn, bright and beautiful. Oliver nudged my foot with his club. “Let’s keep golfing.” On the next hole, he picked up his interrogation. “Pizza toppings?”
“Olives, cheddar cheese, and barbecue sauce,” I said without hesitation.
He was silent for a moment, staring at me with his brow furrowed. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. It’s delicious and you should try it sometime.”
“That sounds… interesting.”
I planted my feet and crossed my arms over my chest. “I won’t be disrespected by my husband, no matter how famous a chef he is.” I fought to keep a smile off my face.
Oliver came close to me, leaned in toward my ear, and dropped his voice to a whisper. “That’s disgusting,” he murmured. I shivered, from the proximity or his sexy tone or a chill in the air, I didn’t know.
“How about you, Mr. Big Shot Chef? What areyourfavorite pizza toppings?”
“I’m pretty straightforward. I like pepperoni.” His gazed flicked down to the front of my pants before meeting my eyes again.
I grinned. “Noted.” I was tempted to get close to him while he putted, but I was sure we’d be interrupted again if I did. Instead, we kept playing our game and tossing questions back and forth. Favorite music genre. Childhood best friend. Then we came to most embarrassing moment.
“That’s a good question,” Oliver said as he picked up his ball from the next to last hole. “Does marrying a stranger and then having it plastered on the front of the entertainment section in the newspaper count as an embarrassing moment? Because if so, it would rank pretty high.”
