He nods. “Have you gone back after it happened?”
“To the beach?” I ask, frowning. “Of course. I was there recently . . . a couple of days after the anniversary.”
Surprise flashes in his green eyes. “I wanted to reach out to you after it happened. I’m sorry I didn’t. I kept tabs through Vic, but I should have been there. Every time I thought about showing up at the gallery or seeking you out, I . . .” He sighs and turns his face away, his gaze back on the water. “I kind of panicked.”
When the waitress comes, and we order our drinks and some food, I know I can just drop what he said. It’s an out for both of us to go back to treading on more comfortable ground, but his words keep playing in my head.
“Panicked why?” I ask quietly, breaking a piece of bread and lathering it with strawberry jam, as he does. I feel his eyes on me and I look up to see him shrug.
“Because of the last time I saw you.”
“At my parents’ house,” I say, nodding in understanding.
When the waiter comes back with our drinks, we drop the subject, because that one is too much for a friends-only date.
“So, Doctor Hart, how are you doing in your residency so far? Do you get quizzed? How does that work?” I ask, smiling. Oliver chuckles, as his eyes light up and those dimples flash in amusement.
“I’m proud to say all of my quizzes are behind me, but they do stay on my ass enough to know if I mess up . . . which I don’t,” he adds with a wink.
I grin. “Of course you don’t, Mr. Perfect.”
“Doctor Perfect,” he corrects, raising an eyebrow. We share a laugh over that, but it dies down quickly when his gaze turns serious again. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” I respond, just as the waiter sets down our food. He ordered egg whites and bacon scramble, and I’m having Eggs Benedict over avocado. We push our plates toward the middle of the table so we can share, like we used to. Everything feels so . . . natural.
I smile, watching as he takes a bite of the avocado and eggs. He groans, making a face of pure bliss, and then smiles and cuts a piece to feed me. I place my hands on the edge of the table and lean into the fork, my eyes on his as I do. As soon as the explosion of flavors hits my tongue, I match his moan and close my eyes.
“That is so good,” I say once I finish chewing. I smile when I notice Oliver’s eyes are still on my mouth. “You had a question for me,” I prompt. He swallows and nods.
“Was he really controlling over you?” he asks. I guess my face shows how taken aback by his question I am, because he adds a quick “If you don’t mind me asking” to his statement.
“I wouldn’t say he was controlling . . . not in a bad way, anyway . . . I’m sure Vic has painted a terrible picture of our relationship for you—this guy goes out of town constantly and leaves her alone without calling her for days and days and then comes back and tells her she can’t dress the way she normally dresses and has to give up dance classes,” I say, mimicking my brother’s angry voice. “But he didn’t make me do any of those things. I did those things because I wanted to.”
Oliver’s face twists into something I’ve never seen before. It’s like grief or something, I don’t know—but the sight of it makes my heart drop to my stomach.
After a moment, I whisper, “What are you thinking?”
He looks away from me, into the ocean, and when his green eyes find mine again, that look hasn’t gone away. “I’m thinking . . .” He stops himself, as if he’s having this tug of war in his mind over whether or not to tell me. I nod, encouraging him. “I’m thinking that I don’t think I could go days and days without hearing your voice.”
His answer is so not what I expected. The way it makes me feel, is so not what I was expecting. And the fact that I like both things makes me feel conflicted.
“What are you thinking?” he asks after a moment.
“That this is nothing like the last date I went on.”
Oliver chuckles. “With that Derek guy?”
“Why must you have such a good memory?” I ask, smiling and shaking my head.
“Did you ever go out with him again?”
“Nope. Definitely not my type.”
“What is your type?” he asks, his eyes dropping to my lips, which I lick because they’re suddenly dry.
“I don’t really have one. I just know he’s not it,” I say, shrugging.
“I think you do have one.”
“Really?” I say. “Enlighten me, oh, wise one. What is my type?”
Oliver smiles, that lazy smile, and leans back in his seat, pushing his cup of water away slightly. “You like guys with long hair.”
“You’re only saying that because Wyatt had long hair,” I say. He gives me a pointed look. “And you had long hair.”
“Have,” he corrects.
“It used to be longer.”
“You want me to grow it back?”
I shrug, ignoring the butterflies circulating inside my stomach. “Doesn’t matter to me. What does Jen like?”
Oliver smiles wider, scratching the scruff on his chin. “I never really thought to ask for her opinion.”
The fact that he’s not denying that there was something going on with her makes me want to chuck my silverware at him. His deep chuckle snaps me out of my murderous thoughts.
“What?” I ask, sounding snappier than I intend.
“You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”
My mouth pops open. “I am not jealous. I don’t get jealous—ever. I couldn’t care less what you do in your free time.”
He keeps smiling at me, both eyebrows raised now. I close my eyes when I feel my face heat, because I can’t stand to look at the laughter in his eyes.
“Elle,” he says. I jolt and open my eyes when I feel his large hands covering mine on the table. “I already told you I’m not sleeping with anybody. Now tell me—what do you like?”
“It doesn’t matter what I like. Ask one of the nurses,” I throw out and regret it immediately, because I realize that I do sound jealous.
Oliver laughs again. “Their opinions don’t matter either.”
“Yet mine does.” I raise an eyebrow.
“Yours does,” he responds, his smoldering look beginning to affect me in a way I can’t handle well.
“What else is my type?” I ask, taking my hands from under his and putting them on my lap.
“You like older men.”
“Again, you’re just saying that because Wyatt was older.”
“Too much older,” he counters.
“No such thing.”
His jaw tightens and he throws a curve ball my way. “Do you know how shocked I was when I found out you were engaged to him?”