Page 22 of Oliver

He grins and pecks my lips. “Happy to oblige.”

“I think we should have a safeword. In case I ever go too far or ask you to do something you don’t like.” I stroke my fingers through his hair and he nods.

“All right. I’m not super well versed in kink but I believe red is the standard, yes?” I nod. “Red it is, then. And yellow to slow down.” I nod again, and then kiss him once more.

Seven

OLIVER

An hour later we’re showered and packed, and on the road. Hunter is behind the wheel of the RV, and looking one hundred percent comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt, his beautiful blond hair up in a messy bun. I’ve decided I’m rather fond of his hair that way, though I like it no matter what.

The RV’s not huge, but it’s got more than enough space for the two of us, with a fold down queen sized sofa bed as well as a separate room with a queen sized bed, a television, full kitchen, and bathroom. The kitchen supplies and all the hookup accessories are included in the rental. That’s what Hunter tells me, anyway. I haven’t got the faintest clue what the hookup accessories are. I’ve never been in an RV in my life and my parents would probably be appalled at the idea of vacationing this way, but I find myself loving it the longer we’re on the road. Hunter did have to spend a moment convincing me that it had in fact been cleaned and the sheets in particular were safe to sleep in. When he offered to stop somewhere and purchase a set ofnew sheets just to put my mind at ease I flushed and my chest constricted at his kindness. He didn’t complain, didn’t tell me I was being ridiculous, just did what he could to make sure I was comfortable.

Now I’m sitting next to him in the passenger seat as we make our way along the interstate. It’s freeing to me, and I enjoy just sitting back and relaxing as Hunter drives, watching the landscape through the window. “Where are we headed?” I ask.

“We’ve got about an hour before we get to Cracker Barrel and then another four-ish hours before we reach Philly.”

I frown. “What’s a Cracker Barrel?”

He gapes at me, as if trying to suss out if I’m taking the piss or not.

“Are you serious?” he says, a note of laughter in his voice. “You’ve never been to a Cracker Barrel?”

I shake my head. “I’ve never been on a bloody road trip.”

His eyes widen even further. “You’re joking?”

“I joke not,” I say. “You are witness to my first ever road trip.”

“What did you do for family vacations growing up?”

“I don’t know. Cruises, five star resorts. One year we came here, to the US. Of course, Olivia and I spent those vacations with the nanny so Mother and Father could enjoy themselves doing adult activities.” I put the words in finger quotes. “That’s how we came to live here, in fact. We visited New York and Mother fell so in love with it she insisted we move here. So we did.”

He glances at me again. “Do you miss London?”

My chest squeezes again at his thoughtfulness. I don’t know if anyone has ever asked me that before, even Amanda. “Sometimes,” I say. “I would love to go back some day, but it seems I can never find the time, or someone to take there with me.” I almost say I suggested it as an idea for our honeymoon before I realize that would be in poor taste. He doesn’t need tothink about that. Anyway, Amanda had her heart set on Hawaii, so there was no point in bringing it up.

“Well, you’re in for a treat when we get to Cracker Barrel,” he says. “It’s this quaint country restaurant, and it’s even got a little store inside with all these cool toys and candy and decorations you can’t find anywhere else. And the food is amazing.”

“It sounds lovely,” I tell him, and he smiles at me.

HUNTER

Oliver is absolutely adorable when we reach Cracker Barrel, and is gazing at everything in the small shop with wide eyes like a child in a candy store, moving from rack to rack, picking things up, turning them around, pushing the buttons on the toys just to see what they’ll do. Reading all the quotes on the decor, sometimes laughing and other times looking at me for help because he doesn’t understand the joke. He loves the giant checkers board, a rug in place of an actual board, and I can tell he wants to play, so I sit in one of the oversized rocking chairs on one side and gesture for him to take the other. We don’t finish the game before our name gets called. I can tell Oliver is disappointed, and I have to drag him along, reminding him that everything will still be there when we’re finished, and he can come back.

His eyes roam as we make our way to our seats, taking in the unique decor on the walls, from vintage signs, to cast iron pots and pans, and farming equipment.

He flushes when he walks right into me, after I stop by the two person table the hostess has led us to. “Apologies,” he says, and I just chuckle, taking my seat as he takes his.

The waitress comes by almost immediately to ask what we’d like to drink, and I order coffee. Oliver gets water. I have a feeling he’d get hot tea if they had it, but they don’t. She scurries off when we tell her we need a minute to look over the menu. I don’t really, since I’ve been here a million times, but I know Oliver does. God, he’s adorable, his eyes darting around as he takes everything in. It’s just a restaurant, but he seems quite taken with it, and it makes me happy. Giving him experiences like this warms my heart. There’s nothing I want more than his happiness.

“You like it?” I ask.

He flushes again and smiles. “It’s charming.”

I almost reach across to squeeze his hand but then stop myself. I don’t know if he is comfortable with me showing him affection in public. He’s still coming to terms with his sexuality and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. God, it’s hard not to touch him, though.

“What are you getting?” he inquires as he puruses the menu.

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