Page 7 of Puck to the Heart
Several minutes passed quietly as we perused the menus. I wanted to ask her opinion, to see if she wanted to share or what her thoughts on mushrooms were, or if she knew how to pronounce “Bourguignon.” But the air lingered heavy over us until our server broke it, offering bread, wine, and a needed reprieve.
When they walked away, I couldn’t stand another second of this far from comfortable quiet. “If we’re going to have to endure this dinner, can we at least not do it in silence?” Olivia’s huffiness returned at my request. Hoping to disarm her, I asked, “What do you talk about with your friends?”
A delicate snort escaped her, though she tried to hide it. “Friends? We’re not friends.”
“Okay, but don’t you have friends to hang out with?”
Another scoff as she studied her hands. Her glass. Anything but me. “Not here.”
“What about the people you work with?”
“Hell, no.”
Interesting. Wasn’t she dating the dude who followed her to the box office and gave her a shitty nickname? But she cut off my rumination before it went further.
“I’m not great at making friends, not since college…”
There was clearly more to the story, but when she didn’t explain, I didn’t push.
“Besides I work weird hours, and—” Assessing, light eyes met mine before she blazed on. “And I’m notgoodat being a friend anyway.”
“Is anyone?”
Olivia shrugged. “I’m not what most people consider friendly, and I’m not ‘nice’,” she drew air quotes around the word. “I’m usually too blunt, and it comes out rude, even if I don’t mean it that way. Sometimes I need a lot of space, and I’ll just disappear. I might forget to text on your birthday, but I’ll send you twenty memes that made me think of you at three a.m. on a Tuesday. I don’t like people touching me when I don’t expect it; hugs are hard. I am difficult to be around and harder to… befriend, I guess. So, it’s best not to waste either of our time.”
Those all sounded like things someone told her about herself. She recited them like ticking off a list.
“I’m not sure what I’d say about tonight, but it’s not a waste of time. I can handle anything you throw at me.” Suddenly, Iwantedto crack through that ice.
She sized me up, sparkling blue eyes flicking over my shoulder and going unfocused for a split second. I watched her make the silent decision before a slow smile spread over her face. And it… captivated me. I was a butterfly pinned to a board, helpless in a way that was unfamiliar.
“When I’mtoo muchfor you, remember, you asked for it.”
Determinedto get through to her, and now oddly fascinated by this woman, I kept going. “Tell me something about yourself.”
“Like what?” Olivia’s dark brows pinched together again.
“I don’t know…” I glanced around the dim room, searching for inspiration. When nothing came to me, I thought about what little I knew about her. “Where do you work?”
“Hurst Labs. It’s a contract industrial chemical lab.”
“So, you blow stuff up?” That sounded cool, at least.
“Er. No. I work with…” The sigh she let out drew my gaze back to her from where they wandered to the next table.
Our neighbors perused the wine menu, harassing the poor server for samples as if this was a tasting.
“You work with…?”
“Industrial lubricants.”
“Comeagain?” I nearly snorted.
“Oh, ha ha. Very funny. I work with lube, and you had to go and make a sex joke.”
“It was right there. I had to slip in the joke.” The pinch of her mouth and the very pointed rip right down the center of her bread frightened me a little. “You’re serious?”
“Deadly.”
