My eyes cut to hers. “I haven’t stopped living. I just don’t want to move on like that. If I find someone, I find someone—if I don’t, I don’t.” Mia has tried to set me up on two blind dates in the past couple of months. Even Felicia tried to talk me into going on one, but I wasn’t ready. I still don’t think I am, despite what everybody thinks. Even my own mom is driving me up the wall about the dating thing, as if some man is going to magically take the pain away.
“Elle . . .”
“I’m just saying that I don’t care to date right now. Besides, I don’t need a guy. I love being alone.”
“Elle . . .”
“I’m serious, I do. And now I come to Vic’s house thinking that this is going to be like summer camp or something, and freaking Oliver comes over my first fifteen minutes there, so really it’s exactly like—”
“You saw Oliver?” Mia shouts, effectively shutting me (and a couple of people around us) up.
I nod, taking a sip of my drink.
“What happened? Oh. My. God. What happened when he saw you there? Did he know you would be there? Did you know he was here? Victor didn’t even warn you? Holy shit!” Mia says, practically squealing.
“This is why I didn’t want to bring it up.”
She shoots me a look. “Spill. Right now. I want to hear every single detail of what happened. Is he still hot as fuck?”
“What do you think?” I say, letting out a short laugh.
“I think he’s aging like fine wine. Does he still have the long hair? His hair was so hot,” she says, fanning herself with her hand.
“His hair was so hot? Yeah, it’s still long. Not as long, but long enough,” I say before I realize the way that sounds—not because of the actual words—but because of mental images of me threading my fingers through it.
“Well, the whole package was hot. What was it like though—seeing him again?” she asks.
“For him, I guess like old times. For me, I don’t know. It was . . .”
“Like old times pre-Oliver or post-Oliver?” she asks in another interruption.
“Easy on the questions, Columbo.”
“You can’t tell me something like that and then hold back. Just humor me!” Mia whines.
“Fine. Seeing him was . . . uncomfortable. I felt like I was being ambushed, even though he was just standing there with food in his hands. He brought sandwiches and sushi.”
Mia searches my face. “So he knew you’d be there.”
I shrug. Obviously, he knew I’d be there if he brought enough food for me to sit and eat with them, but I don’t know how far in advance he knew I’d be there. It’s not like sushi is difficult to find in Santa Barbara, but still. Victor and Oliver don’t really care for sushi. It’s my favorite food. I can eat it all the time and anytime.
“I didn’t question it,” I tell her quietly. “We didn’t really talk about much other than his residency and my sculptures.”
“He asked about the hearts?” Mia asks in a whisper.
I nod.
“Did you tell him why you make them?”
“Of course not,” I say, scoffing. “I’m not that brave.”
We share a small, pathetic, commiserative smile before she drops the subject. “So, what are you up to this weekend?”
I start telling her what the rest of my weekend looks like, and we ease into a conversation about that instead. Anything to get away from the topic of Oliver Hart.