“Why’s that?” he asked.
“I’ve nothing to keep me here once I’m recovered enough to travel, Oliver. I can’t stay here where there’s no future for me.”
“Rubbish.”
I giggled at his brashness. “Why do you say that?”
“It’s rubbish because you could work from anywhere in the world at any time, Pen. You are free to live an adventurous life.” He fell back and tucked both hands beneath his head. “You should stay here with me until you’re fully recovered. We can spend my birthday together. Stay friends with me for a little while here, then decide what you want to do.”
I thought over what he said and decided it wasn’t an altogether unreasonable suggestion. “What if you get sick of me living with you in two weeks and regret the invitation?”
“Not possible. I’ve already determined that you’re not much of a bother. You’re fun to talk to. I don’t like living alone like this. Never had, really. And if at the end of our trial run you’re still having a good time, we can talk about a roommate-type situation. Then, when you get fed up with us Londoners, you can run off to wherever your heart drags you. It’s a perfect situation. You’d be a fool to turn it down.”
I laughed softly. “You’ve made me an offer I cannot refuse,” I spouted in my best Godfather voice.
“May your first child be a masculine child,” Oli added.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s the only Godfather line I know.
I laughed loudly at that. “You’re a trip, Oli.”
We sat in companionable silence for at least an hour and not once did it get uncomfortable, which astonished me.
“Hey,” Oli finally said.
“Yeah?”
“I haven’t talked about Brooke in over a year, do you know that?”
“Is it hard for you?” I asked.
“It is, yes, but I think I only miss what we could have been at this point. I’m not bitter or anything, though. I’ve forgiven her, don’t get me wrong. At first I was too livid to even consider it. The funeral was a roller coaster of emotions for me, but eventually I let my disappointment at what she’d done go and gave it to God. That’s when I started praying for her soul. I pray for her every day.” He sighed. “It took a while, but I forgave her, though the forgiveness came at a strange time.”
“It did?”
“In retaliation for what she’d done, I started sleeping with anything that moved. It was childish, I know, but I was dysfunctional and couldn’t wrap my mind around how to care for my broken mind, never mind my broken heart. I should have been in therapy. In fact, I should be in therapy now, but it is what it is. Anyway, for some reason, after the tenth girl, I felt such an inexplicable and incredible guilt. Though Brooke had been dead for six months at that point, it didn’t matter. I literally felt like I’d cheated on my wife and, let me tell you, the shame was substantial. I suddenly understood why she hadn’t wanted to face me after what she’d done.
“Pen, I wish she had just come to me, told me what happened. Our marriage might not have survived, but at least she’d be alive. She could have started anew, learned to forgive herself, contributed something to this earth other than heartache. I’m not necessarily blaming her for what she did, because I don’t know her state of mind then. I like to think she wasn’t all there, you know? It helps me to sleep at night, at least.”
“What a heavy burden to carry.”
“It’s okay,” he promised. “I might be shedding tiny pieces of the aftermath still, but nothing like before.”
“I think you carry around more than you think still.”
“Don’t go there, Pen.”
I sighed. “Oliver, you still act like a destructive moron.”
“Hello, Pot. I’m Kettle.”
“How is it I’m the pot?”
“You have been here for eight months, Pen, and I have seen you slowly morph into the girl Graham wanted you to be. That’s not healthy either.”
I bit my tongue. “Change of subject?” I asked.
After a brief moment of silence, he nodded. “What should we do with our weeks?” he asked, agreeing to the truce.
“What can we really do when I’m casted up like this?”
“Lots.” He shrugged. “Just have to get creative.”
“Well? I’m waiting.”
“Oh, you need ideas now? I don’t have anything now. I need time.”
“Fine, tonight at dinner. I’ll be waiting.”
“We could go out for dinner tonight, if you want.”
“Where to?” I asked.
“The Briargrove?”
“Uh, the Briargrove? You Mr. Moneybags or something?” I glanced around the room. “Oh, wait, I guess you are. Fine then. The Briargrove it is.”
“Good.”
“Wait, are you paying?”
He laughed. “Yes, of course.”
“Since it’s such a fancy-shmancy place, I can do myself up real nice-like and turn it into a vlog.” I started getting excited. “What do you say? You want to help me?”
“Me? Help with your vlog?”
“Yes! You’re so GQ, the girls will love you. I’ll get half-a-million views by the morning and then Clinique will call and shove cash down my pockets to advertise on my super well-liked site with the cute boy!” I blushed when I’d inadvertently complimented him.
“You’re mental,” he said, batting away my hand when I started to poke him.
“Come on, Oli. Please?”
“What would you have me do anyway?”
“Not sure yet, just agree to it.”
“I’ll agree but I reserve the right to veto any decision I don’t agree with.”
I looked at him seriously. “Would you like a safe word?”
He bit his bottom lip in mock worry. “Yes, madam.”
“Okay.” I thought for a moment. “Your safe word is bumfuzzle.”
He laughed then groaned, his hand going to his head. “I am not saying that.”
“You have to. It’s a real word, Oli, I swear. It doesn’t mean anything dirty. It’s just a great, underused word.”
He smiled at me. “What does it mean?”
“It’s another word for confuse or perplex and it’s brilliant, Oli.”
He shook his head, accepting his fate. “How in the bloody hell do you keep talking me into this kind of nonsense?”
I emphatically waved my good hand in excitement then realized something. “Wait, doesn’t the Briargrove have a wait list?”
“That they do, Penelope Beckett. That they do, but it just so happens I might know a fellow who knows a fellow who could get us in.”
“You might know a guy who knows a guy?”
“Possibly. My old schoolmate is good friends with a guy who may or may not work there, but it is more promising than not.”
“It all sounds so credible, we’re almost guaranteed a table.”
“I know. I’m well connected to people who are well connected.”
Oli helped me make my new vlog. I made him wear his three-piece fitted suit when he did it. I could practically hear all the girls around the world sigh. He stood like a butler behind me and would fetch pieces I needed when I playfully snapped my fingers. I had to stop filming a number of times to scold him for laughing. I wore a slip in the video. It wasn’t indecent or anything, but it needed to be something I could also put clothes over. The point of the vid was to show how you could look stylish even with monstrosities like casts attached to your legs or arms. I braced Oliver before we began filming but he blushed regardless, which made me blush.
I also filmed myself doing my hair after my shower and decided to make that a small segment in the beginning of the video. The idea of curling my hair was a little daunting so I opted to shake things up a little bit and flat-iron the length, finishing up with a little bit of Bio-Oil to tame the flyaways. It was a chic look. I thought my viewers would enjoy it.
I chose one of my man
y vintage pieces that Graham made no secret he detested. It was nude in color, a sheer one-piece sheath with an organza pencil skirt that met me at the knees. It was tailored at the waist with an organza-and-lace ruffle that fell a little longer in the back and circled my entire waist. The bodice was a V-neck that fell dramatically in the front and back and was embroidered with tiny clusters of crystals on the lace. Little frog buttons crawled up the back of the bodice to the dip of the V. It was one of my favorite dresses ever.
Oli had a hell of a time putting it on me and when I looked back at the footage, it was beyond comical. My followers would love it. Once it was on, Oli looked a little red in the face from the effort, which made it totally worth it. I’d turned to the camera at that point and said, “No pain, no gain.” He’d zipped me up the side and stood to my left like the good pretend butler he was.
When we said goodbye to the cameras and I shut everything down, readying the film for editing later, Oliver fell back on top of the bed.
“How the hell do you do that several times a week? That was a beating!”
I laughed. “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad.”
He sat up, his shoe-clad feet resting on the floor. “Penelope, that was pure torture for me. I had to remind myself it was being filmed to keep my expression in check.”
I giggled and hobbled for the wardrobe Oliver had placed all my belongings in for me. I reached for the left shoe of a pair of kitten heels that would go with what I was wearing, but also wouldn’t trip me up while I was on the scooter. I sat next to Oli on the bed and handed him the shoe.
“Do you mind? It has an ankle strap.”
“Of course, Cinderella,” he said, taking the shoe and kneeling on one knee.
He ran his hand down the back of my calf to lift the foot. The warmth of his fingers biting into my skin sent shivers down my spine. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. What was that? I gulped and ignored the reaction his touch gave me.
We both got really quiet and the moment was filled with palpable tension. Realizing this, we each stood up, a little flustered.
Oli cleared his throat. “So, shall we?” he asked, extending an arm.
I forced a smile and disregarded the rush his second touch gave me. “Um, yes,” I said a little too brightly.
Oli walked ahead of me and helped me down into the sunken workroom. I fixed my knee on the scooter and pushed forward, awkwardly following him into the kitchen. I didn’t know what to do with myself. The dynamic between us had suddenly changed and I didn’t want it to, couldn’t let it.
Oli swung around. “Can we address what that just was?”
I sighed in relief. “Let’s.”
“That was a bit odd, right?”
“It really was.” I laughed.
“What are we supposed to do now?” he asked, looking a little green around the collar.
“Oli, calm down! You’re a boy. I’m a girl. We’ve spent a lot of time together nonstop these last few days, we’ve admitted stuff to each other. It’s a growing friendship. Sometimes people confuse these feelings with attraction.”
He looked disappointed, but I couldn’t be sure. “Yes, of course. Um, yes, you’re right.” He took a deep breath and released it. “You’re right.”
“See? No big deal! We just need to establish a few boundaries.”
“Boundaries, yes. Establish boundaries,” he repeated like a parrot.
“We’ll just play it cool with each other. I’m still pissed right now about Graham, and approaching even more confusing feelings, I can feel it, and we can’t complicate matters. Plus, well, you’re still dealing with the remnants of Brooke.”
“Not really,” he denied.
“Kettle, please stop.”
“Fine.”
“Let’s go to dinner and forget all about it,” he said, running a hand down his mouth.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
He tugged the linked cuffs of his crisp shirt out of the arms of his jacket and pulled at his collar and the bottom of his vest. “Let’s go,” he said, making a beeline toward the workroom.
Oli helped me into the car then got in himself and started the engine. “Shit,” he said.
“What?”
“I forgot to call Ronnie, see if he got in touch with his mate at the Briargrove.”
“Call him now, I guess?”
He picked up his phone, dialed his friend, and I waited.
“Ronnie, it’s Oliver.” Pause. “Yeah, mate. Yeah, course, course.” Oli laughed that unnatural laugh all boys laugh when they’re talking with their friends. I rolled my eyes at him. He shrugged his shoulders in question, but I waved him on. “Yeah, that sounds good, mate. Let’s do that then. Give me a ring next week sometime, will ya?” Pause. “Not at all, mate. No worries.” Another fake laugh. “Right, then. Right. Talk to you then.”
He hung up.
“No table,” he said in his normal tone.
I wasn’t that disappointed. The Briargrove was swanky and the food was excellent, but there wasn’t such a thing as relaxing in places like that. It was not a casual experience by any means.
“Oh well,” I told him. “How about another place?”
“I should have made backup reservations at other places. Now nothing will be available,” he told me.
“Who cares? We’ll go someplace that doesn’t require a reservation.”
Oliver and I had a roaring good time at some hilarious, kitschy little dinner theater. We spent the next several days running errands together, cooking together, working together, though he didn’t costar with me in another vlog again, which was disappointing because the one with him had gone viral with more than two million views in less than four days. Generally we were becoming better friends, but we never crossed any line with one another. We created boundaries and kept within them, which was good for us. I’d never had a male friend who was genuine like Oliver. We had fun together while I healed, and each day it got easier and easier to move around as I got accustomed to my casts. He took me to get my secondary X-rays the following Friday morning and I got the thumbs up that everything was healing quite nicely.
There wasn’t really anything we avoided talking about, besides the random spark we’d felt the morning of our shared vlog. Well, that and the fact we both knew he was going to be seeing Graham that night.
When we got home from the doctor’s office around three in the afternoon or so, I told him I was going to do another vlog and to shout at me on his way out.
I rolled toward my room, but he jogged beside me on the way there. “You’re not going to do the girl thing, right, and get pissed I’m leaving to hang out with your ex, are you?”
I stopped rolling and he stood beside me. “You want what you want to hear, or do you want the truth?” I asked him.
“Damn it, Penny,” he said, walking toward his chair and sinking into it.
I sat on the cushion of my scooter. My good hand went to my face and dragged down. “Hear me out, Oli.”
“Fine,” he huffed, “let’s hear it then.”
“I’m not an idiot. I know you’ve been friends since you were small, so I’m not gonna do the chick thing and start making demands, ’cause that doesn’t work and I don’t really want to even tell you what to do. I hate being ordered around and spouting them leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’m just gonna say this one thing: please don’t trust him. Ever. Keep your friendship at shallow level so you’ll be protected.”
“You can’t say that, Penny. It’s past the point of no return. It’d be unnatural to lower it to superficial after twenty years.”
“You’re right,” I conceded with a sigh. “Can you just not talk about me with him then?”
He nodded and offered a sweet smile. “That I can definitely do.”
Two hours later, when I was in the middle of edits, Oliver knocked on my door and I called out for him to come in.
“Looking sharp, kid!” I told him, spinning around in my chair.
He ran the palms o
f his hands over his glossed hair. Oliver had one of those haircuts that could be whatever you wanted it to be. He could style it to look like he was Jimmy Darmody one minute then the next day would let it dry naturally and pull the front forward messily. It was constantly evolving. I kind of dug it but didn’t want to admit that to myself. I shook my head to clear it.
“I’m just to the pub then,” he said. “I’ll lock up and set the perimeter alarms. Call if you need to leave for whatever reason and I’ll walk you through it.” I smelled his cologne as he bent over the desk near me. I held my breath so I wouldn’t have to scent him. He wrote down six numbers on a scrap sheet of paper with my pencil. “That’s the code, just in case. Call if you need anything,” he said, kissing my cheek and jetting off.
I let out the dizzying breath I’d held and my fingers went to the skin he’d kissed. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it, I chanted.
“Catch you later!” I yelled in an attempt to sound normal, but didn’t really succeed.
I went back to my editing and after a few minutes found myself in a distracted groove, which helped all the warring emotions fighting inside.
When the windows had grown dark and I’d grown sufficiently hungry, I orchestrated the dip from my room into the workroom then rolled into the kitchen to help myself to something to eat. On Oliver’s fridge was a taped note.
I made you a little plate so you wouldn’t have to go rummaging on that bum leg of yours. - Oliver
Inside the fridge was a plate of grapes, crackers, cheese, and prosciutto. Beside that was a chilled bottle of white with a note that read: Drink me, Penny. There was a corkscrew on the counter and I popped that baby open, pouring some into a tea mug because I’m classy like that. I scarfed down the food and played sudoku on my phone while I did.
When I’d put everything up, I retreated to my room. Just as I sat, I got a text. Bringing the phone to my face, I could see the text was from Graham but could only read the first portion of his message. My stomach plummeted as I slid to unlock my phone.
Expected you to be here with oliver. U looked pretty chummy together the other day. Are you sleeping with him?
I didn’t want to respond. I knew I shouldn’t have responded. But I did.