Page 84 of Holiday Hopefuls
Rolling my eyes, I decide they can wait. Switching to Pinterest, I scroll through endless pictures of my idealgreenhouses, plants I can’t afford, and all the best tips for making my new Monstera love me. Ads for indoor greenery subscription boxes tempt me, continuing to perform their seductive dance as they appear on my screen. Hot chocolate recipes find their way into my algorithm, and I discover no less than four new concoctions I now need to try when we get home.
When Oliver and I are officially done pretending to be in love.
Here, all alone in my room, the thought guts me. My vision from earlier dares to wiggle its way back into my consciousness, making my eyes burn. Fury brings heat to my cheeks. Anger at my family for driving me to do something as insane as this. Irritation at Aaron for finding that stupid flyer and at Ian for pushing me to go meet the advertiser.
Rage at myself for letting my ridiculous heart become involved, no matter how hard I’ve tried to keep that from happening.
Sniffing, I roughly wipe away the saline that dares to show itself to the world.
“Callie? Are you alright?” Panic laces Oliver’s tone as he rounds the bed to sit on the edge beside me.
Not having heard him even open the bathroom door, my fight-or-flight instinct tries to kick in, and I have to repeatedly tell myself that this man is not an intruder that’s come to steal Gilmore away in the dead of this wintery night. Nope, it’s just this amazing guy who looks criminally good in a white T-shirt and red pajama pants.
“Callie?” he tries again, voice soft as he reaches up to brush away a hair gone wild. A tender thumb gently wipes my stray tear.
Sighing, I shut my phone off and give him a weak smile. “Don’t worry about it,” I say, waving him off. Placing my phone on the stand, I resituate so I’m sitting up.
Oliver drops his hand. “If something concerns you, it concerns me.”
“A parent … They just posted something stupid on social media. That’s all,” I lie.
Those stunning blue eyes search my face behind his glasses.
“Really, it’s nothing,” I insist. When it’s obvious he doesn’t believe me, I switch topics. “I like your glasses. I don’t think I told you that before. On Thanksgiving.”
A light pink tints his cheeks, doing funny things to my insides. “Thank you,” he murmurs. Apprehensive eyes dart over me to the empty side of the bed. “Um, let me just grab my pillow and?—”
“Why?”
“Well,” he says slowly, “I know you were concerned about being uncomfortable with sleeping arrangements earlier.” Oliver gets up and moves to the other side of the bed, grabbing the unsuspecting pillow. “So I’m happy to sleep on the floor or in the chair.”
Rearing my head back, I’m surprised by the amount of annoyance flooding my system. “Don’t be an idiot.”
He frowns. “I usually try not to be.”
“I just mean—” I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes, sighing “—you don’t have to be so chivalrous all the time.”
“I’m telling my mom you said that.”
I look up to find him grinning at me. “Oliver.”
“Callie.”
“Get in the damn bed.”
He watches me for a long moment, trying to discern whether or not I’m serious.
And while the space from him is good for my heart, his intense stare does nothing for my already shredded nerves. In one last attempt to end this interaction, I yank back the covers, displaying the inviting sheets prime for the taking.
Oliver gingerly climbs in beside me and I realize I’ve never been this aware of another human being in my entire life.
Which probably isn’t great since my profession has me around tiny humans all day long.
But regardless, Oliver Grant Rhodes sitting in bed beside me makes me hyperaware of his every movement.
Oliver removes his glasses, shifting to face me. “I think this is going well. Really well.”
Jutting out my lip, I nod and try to tell myself I’m imagining the earnestness in his voice. “Definitely. Even Goldie really likes you.”
