Page 26 of Only One Bed: Anthology Vol. 1
Did she have fun, but only want to do it once?
A glance at the clock helps ease some nerves. I slept in. It’s an hour later than I normally get up. Olive probably just woke up before me and wanted to start the day.
This is what I tell myself in the shower and as I walk up the stairs. But any hope I have of getting answers is dashed when I find the entire Buchanan clan gathered in the kitchen and dining area.
“Morning, man.” Tim slaps me on the back as he walks by. The friendly gesture sends a spike of guilt through me. He has no idea what I was doing with his sister just a few hours ago. “Grab some eggs off the stove. I made too many.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
After scooping a helping of scrambled eggs onto a plate, I slip into a seat across the table from Olive. She smiles at me over her cereal bowl.
I want to take that as a good sign. Problem is, her expression looks completely normal. It’s the same sweet and saucy smile she gives me every morning.
What is she thinking?
“Well, it’s been fun!” Diana announces, dropping her plate in the sink before wandering around the room to hug everyone.
“You’re leaving?” I ask, surprised.
The rental goes until Saturday morning. At least, that’s what I remember Tim saying.
Is today the last day? Was that my last night with Olive?
“Yeah. We’ve got a longer drive, and I have to be in the office tomorrow for a meeting,” Melony explains, gathering up toys that Mason has scattered around the living area.
Relief filters through my chest, but it’s smothered almost immediately.
“Bet you’re both looking forward to having your own rooms for the last couple of nights.” Mrs. Buchanan smiles as me over her mimosa, as if she didn’t just punch my stomach with her words.
“Huh?” Is all I can manage.
“Olive moves up the hierarchy,” Caroline explains while stirring sugar into her coffee.
I glance across the table at the youngest Buchanan, trying to keep all emotion off my face.
“My stuff is already in the basement room,” Olive states before spooning cereal into her mouth.
The tightness in my chest eases a fraction.
“Don’t be lazy, baby girl.” Mr. Buchanan scolds his daughter. “Probably wouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes to shift everything. I’m sure Theo would appreciate moving to a bigger bed.”
My head ducks before the room can see how much blood pools in my cheeks. If anyone does glimpse the color change, maybe I can blame it on a sunburn. None of them know I’ve spent every night in the bigger bed already.
The urge to insist Olive doesn’t have to move rises in my throat, but I shove it down.
Who in their right mind would opt for a twin bed in a shared room when they could have space all to themselves? No doubt what we did early this morning would be written across my face if I tried arguing.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Olive’s head tilt. Still trying not to telegraph to the Buchanan family that I know what their baby girl sounds like when she comes, I keep my gaze on my breakfast.
“Sure. Guess I should claim the honor while I can,” Olive murmurs.
There’s no distinct emotion in her voice that I can discern. Not disappointment. Not relief.
She sounds … neutral.
The next forkful of eggs I swallow is as tasteless as rubber.
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