Page 115 of Oliver
“Oh?” The traces of amusement were now prominent in her expression. "And if I told you I'm Katherine Reynolds?"
I froze, my mind processing her words, their meaning. And then I laughed. Because what else was there to do?
I’d locked myself in a fortress of solitude, and Zahra had found the one way in, with an Uno reverse card nonetheless.
The irony wasn't lost on me.
“You booked me for a date?”
“I did.”
“Under a pseudonym?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“All to recreate our first meeting?”
Zahra’s smile turned sheepish. “That part I didn’t plan.”
“Oh, so you just improvised the entire conversation?”
“Impressed?”
“With you? Always,” I said. “But if not for the reenactment, why did you book me?”
"I’ve been trying to reach you,” she replied softly, all the glee disappearing, replaced with worry. “You look terrible, Oliver.”
"Professional hazard." I shrugged. "The date-for-rent business demands I maintain a certain aesthetic standard."
Zahra laughed. God, I could live a thousand lifetimes and never tire of that sound. It was soft and genuine, though it still carried a note of concern.
“Would you still love to sit with me even though I tricked you into meeting me?” Zahra asked.
"For as long as you’re willing to sit with me," I said, signaling the waitress over to order Zahra a coffee and a plate of sugar cookies.
"I was afraid you’d see me and walk away," she admitted once the waitress was gone. "That voice message you left me…"
I nodded, unable to form words as conflicting emotions battled for dominance.
Relief at seeing her.
Hope—dangerous, unwelcome hope—that she was here for reasons beyond concern or closure.
And the loudest of them all—fear. Because the painstaking, undeniable truth was that my worth to her had diminished, and I had no right to wish for more than closure.
Zahra sat, her movements careful, as if approaching a wounded animal. Perhaps that's what I was. Wounded. Dangerous. Unpredictable even to myself.
“You haven't answered any of my calls."
My reflex was to say I was busy, but that was a lie. Zahra deserved better than more lies.
"I haven't been answering anyone," I admitted, the truth easier than I expected. "Not you, not Emmet, not Tobias."
"Why?" Her question was gentle but direct.
I stared at my coffee, buying time as I searched for words that wouldn't sound pathetic.
"Because I don't know what to say, how to put what’s going on inside my brain and my heart and my entire fucking body into words. Because I left you that voicemail to set you free from all these impossible burdens that are weighing me down. Because..." I looked up, meeting her eyes. "Because you disarm me in the most beautiful and dangerous way possible, and it terrifies me."
