Page 27 of The Mistletoe Bluff
Oliver’s hands clenched the steering wheel, but otherwise his face was relaxed, seemingly unbothered by what happened last night. When he took his eyes off the road to glance at me, I hurried to look away.
“It was fine.”
He nodded before turning his attention back to the road, and a tense silence filled the Jeep. I didn’t want to bring up last night or talk about why I’d made him leave, so I held my breath, silently hoping he didn’t mention it either.
When we were halfway to Dina’s, he cleared his throat, his musical accent filling the car.
“Maya, you don’t have to explain why what I said was wrong last night, but just know that I will listen if you want to tell me what I did to offend you. I’d like to understand.”
For a moment, I gaped at him. Who was this man? Anyone else would have been angry and upset that I slammed the door in their face. But Oliver wanted to…understand?
I scratched my head, needing to do something with my hands. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Oliver.”
He quirked a brow. “Do you often kick out people for no reason then?”
“It’s complicated,” I said with a shake of my head. Dina’s restaurant appeared down the road. We didn’t have enough time for this conversation. I gave him a weak smile, hoping that would keep him from asking more, but the blasted Brit was persistent.
“I can deal with complicated, Maya.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Try me.”
In less than thirty seconds we’d be pulling into Dina’s parking lot, and the thought of opening up to Oliver, to someone who would leave once he saw how crazy I was, made my heart pound in my chest.
My palms grew clammy, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. I gripped my knees, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to calm the anxiety that had seized my body.
“Maya?” Oliver’s voice was far away, at the end of a long tunnel, muffled like he was underwater.
My hands were too hot on my legs, my leggings growing damp from the sweat that had accumulated beneath them. I gasped for air but couldn’t find any relief from the squeezing feeling in my chest.
And then warm hands cradled my cheeks, turning my head.
“Hey, breathe.” Oliver’s blue eyes rimmed in gold came into focus, his brows low in concern.
His thumbs drew soft lines across my face, in time with his calmer breathing, and I latched onto it, forcing my breathing to mimic his. His touch drew out the anxiety. Seconds or minutes later, I wasn’t sure, I closed my eyes, drinking precious air into my lungs.
His hands didn’t move from my face. I didn’t know how long he held me like that, but when my mind finally focused, I realized that we were parked at Dina’s. We were so close he was practically sitting in the seat with me.
Oliver was inches away. Now that my anxiety had eased, a strange feeling flickered in my stomach that had me wanting to lean forward into his arms and be held by him.
“Maya?” His voice was soft, breaking me from my traitorous thoughts.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, though from the way my voice shook, it was clear I wasn’t.
He held onto me for another moment before pulling his hands away, his fingers dragging across my skin in the most excruciatingly exquisite way. I bit my lip to hold back a whimper.
“Does that happen often?” he asked.
“What?”
“Do you often have panic attacks?”
His face remained blank, void of the judgment I had come to expect. Very few people knew that I struggled with anxiety, and I always hated that they either looked down on me because of it, or gave me eyes full of pity.
I didn’t want judgment, and I certainly didn’t want pity.
When someone was forced to grow up too soon and learn to take care of themselves alone, there were bound to be mental health effects along the way. I just wished people wouldn’t look at me like I was broken, or like something was wrong with me.
