“You know you could have taken me to In-N-Out Burger and I would have been just as happy, right?”
His eyes flick to mine, and he gives me a slow, half-smile. “The night’s still young.”
I smile and reach for my glass of champagne. “How did you set this up, anyway?” I ask, when I see Mario walking toward us with a tray in his hands. He places it between us, bows and walks away. “Where did you find that guy?” I ask when he’s out of earshot. Oliver chuckles, his shoulders shaking. I love that his dimples—although covered by the scruff on his face—are in full sight.
“Are we playing twenty-one questions?” he asks after a beat, his eyes sparkling with amusement under the brim of his hat.
“We might as well,” I retort, smiling back.
“I met him when he brought his kid into the ER. I was on my way out, he and his wife were frantic because David, their son, wiped out and hit his head. So I helped them.”
“And you stayed in touch?” I ask, frowning.
“Well, I had to make house calls,” he says, looking away.
“You make house calls?”
He sighs and looks at me again. “Not usually.” I raise an eyebrow and signal for him to elaborate. Finally, he sighs again, runs a hand through his hair and speaks. “They didn’t have medical insurance, so I had to kind of do what I did off the books.”
My heart squeezes in my chest and I smile, reaching my hand out and placing it over his on the table. He turns his over and holds it there. We don’t say anything. I don’t tell him what an amazing man he is for doing that, and he doesn’t elaborate further. From experience, I know that Oliver is the kind of guy who would throw himself in front of a bus for you and then deny that he saved your life. He’ll chalk it up to anybody would have done the same. He doesn’t realize that people aren’t that nice. People don’t push aside their own agenda for the sake of the greater good. He looks into my eyes with this longing—this need—as he draws circles over my hand. For a moment, I can’t remember what we were talking about, what we’re doing, where we are, or what day it is.
“Shall we eat?” he says, flashing an easy smile that makes my heart stutter. I nod and take my hand back, putting it over my lap and folding it into the other while I wait for him to uncover the plate of oysters between us.
“Did you already work your last day at the hospital?” I ask, slipping a forkful into my mouth.
“Well, I’m done with my residency, so yes, but I’ve been picking up shifts here and there while I decide what to do next.”
“I have to go back on Tuesday for a class. Mae wants me to teach the class how to make sculptures out of shattered glass.”
Oliver picks up his gaze from the plate and looks at me, but doesn’t say anything, so I continue.
“I wish the powers that be would let the kids come to the studio instead. Jen is asking Mr. Frederick about it to see if he’ll let me set up a field trip there, just so they can get out. I mean, if it’s possible. I’m sure it would be difficult to cover the doctors and nurses and stuff . . . I wish this house would sell already,” I say, sighing.
“What are you going to do once it does?”
“Originally I was planning on giving all of the money to Wyatt’s parents. Set up an account and be done with it. But then I thought, I mean . . . it was my house too. Maybe I should take some of it and give the rest to them. I don’t know. It’s confusing. They don’t want it, and I don’t need it, so I go back and forth on it.”
Oliver nods and takes a sip of champagne. “Do you miss your life there?”
My eyes search his. I know what he’s asking. I don’t know if I want to answer. Finally, I take a breath and look away for a beat. Before I answer, he speaks again.
“Let’s do something,” he says, his hand reaching out for mine again. “For the remainder of this date, we ask and answer every question imaginable. It doesn’t matter how dumb or how hard it is. I want to know everything. Nothing left unsaid, okay?”
“That’s a lot for one date,” I breathe. He squeezes my hand.
“Sometimes one date is all we have.” His response makes me feel like crying, and I guess he sees that, because he brings my hand up to his and kisses it. “I want a lot of dates like this, Elle. A lot. But in the past, we’ve done things, and we haven’t communicated and, well . . . I don’t want that to happen again.”
I take another breath. “I don’t miss it. I mean, I miss the comfort of going there and knowing I was home. I miss Wyatt sometimes,” I say, my voice catching. I swallow down the tears I feel coming. “I miss his enthusiasm about art and life and the stories he would tell me about his travels. Is this weird?” I whisper, looking up at him and wiping under my eyes.
He looks like he’s being lashed at, but he shakes his head nonetheless. “It’s . . . it’s fine. I want to hear this. I don’t want you to think you have to erase your past because of me, or forget about him or your life together. I just . . . I’ve never felt like I’ve had to compete with anybody for someone’s affection, and now I feel like I’m competing with a ghost, and sometimes memories are better than realities.”
I stare at him for a moment before I stand and walk around the table. Oliver leans back, wordlessly making room for me on his lap. I sit there and wrap my arms around his neck, placing my head on his chest. His arms automatically go around me, holding me there so perfectly, it’s as if my body is a puzzle piece snapping in place. So many years I’ve dreamt of doing this with him and when we finally do, we have the shadow of my past over us. That’s how life is—I know that—but it still breaks my heart for him . . . for us.
“Would it help if I told you that the whole time I was with Wyatt he was competing with your ghost?” I whisper against his neck, breathing in his calming, clean scent.
His chuckle vibrates through me. “Not really. That would just mean I should have tried harder before. Maybe if I had, you wouldn’t have had to experience such a terrible loss.”
I inch back from him, to look at his face. “How is it that you haven’t found a woman yet? All those women you work with—that you went to school with—all, smart and beautiful. How could perfect Oliver not have found someone?”
He chuckles again, his eyes sparkling as he reaches up and combs the hair out of my face. I do the same for him, but leave my hand on the back of his neck. He closes his eyes for a moment and swallows. “I’m not perfect, Elle. Not even close.”
“You are to me,” I whisper.
His eyes darken when he looks at me. “Maybe that’s your answer.”