Page 89 of Mended Hearts

“I figured I’d work remotely today. Make sure you three are back on your feet.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got it.”

“I know,” he said, that full mouth I should probably stop staring at hooking left. “But I like feeling useful. I’ll whip up something light to ease you all back into the swing of things.”

“You’re too sweet, Ollie.”

“I know,” he sighed dramatically. “It’s always been my problem.”

* * *

By Friday,we were all back in our routines, and Tillie was thrilled she wasn’t going to miss her final weekend of performances. I couldn’t blame her—she’d worked her little ass off, and it showed in every beautiful motion of her performance.

Despite the warning that we’d all been sick, Emmaline was stoked for a night with the kids, and how on earth that woman was the progeny of Reginald Hart, I would never understand. The fact that his travels had kept him out of family affairs these last few months was a gift to all. His sunshine-fueled daughter was a very different story, and the kids seemed just as thrilled about the pairing.

Which left me, standing in front of my bathroom mirror, dressed in a fabric so far above my pay grade I didn’t even have a name for it. Because—in true Oliver fashion—he’d kept his word, and a sexy sapphire-blue dress had been delivered by Freckles Thursday evening.

Normally, I would’ve sent him a middle finger emoji and worn jeans out of spite, but my breath hitched as the silky material spilled out of the bag and I decided I’d humor him. Not only was it precisely my size, but the sweetheart neckline dipped just low enough to reveal my scar before cresting over my boobs like they belonged on display.

I’d dated a few guys in college—all duds, obviously—and two of them had been embarrassed by the puckered line of skin, like my survival wasn’t worth the price of my souvenir. Needless to say, they hadn’t made it through the appetizer course before I moved the hell on.

But not Ollie.

The phantom sensation of his lips over my chest had my breath hitching again, just before a knock at the door sent both my lungs and heart sprinting into overdrive. With one last glance at my reflection, I marched out of the bathroom—grateful Kaia had taken the bait and gone to yoga with Alice—and made my way to the front door.

True to his vow in that pantry, Ollie stood there in his usual navy suit, holding a fistful of flowers so stunning my mouth dropped open.

“For the love of all things blush, what the fuck are those? When you said flowers, I’m not gonna lie—I thought roses or daisies or something normal.”

He grinned. “Any idiot can get roses.”

“And what are these?” I accepted the bouquet, all but burying my face in the giant pink blossoms.

“Ranunculus—”

“Gesundheit.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Sweet pea,” he continued without missing a beat, “and, of course?—”

“Morning glory,” I finished on a ditsy-sounding exhale, fingers caressing the familiar vine. “Ollie, they’restunning.”

“One more thing.”

“What?” I balked, looking down at the ornate dress painted onto my body, then back at what might as well have been a bridal bouquet.

He laughed and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out?—

“Is that a stuffed avocado?” I blinked, accepting the goofy little smiling plushie, shaking my head.

“In case at any point I make you feelguacward.”

That did it. I lost it, laughing in the most unladylike way humanly possible, which only made his grin widen.

“So cheesy,” I finally squeaked.

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